


Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017

by jupiter_james



Series: Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Sam Winchester, Anal hooks, Angel Castiel, Bathtub Sex, Blow Job, Bodyguard Castiel, Bodyguard Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Cock Warming, College AU, Coming Untouched, Demon Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Doctor Castiel, Doctor Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, F/M, Fake Relationship, Fingering, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gun play, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, Handcuffs, Human AU, Human Castiel, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Nipple Play, PWP, Panty Kink, Pegging, Piercing, Prostate Milking, Public Sex, Role Playing, Sabriel - Freeform, Secret Relationship, Spanking, Sperm Donation, Sub Castiel, Sub Dean Winchester, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Tattoo Artist Dean, Tattooed Castiel, Tattooed Dean, Tattooed Sam, Threesome, Voyeur Castiel, Voyeurism, Wincestiel - Freeform, Wing Kink, alcohol use, body art, breath play, enverse Castiel, hand holding, handjobs, hospital au, minor character injury, slumber party, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: The tags and relationships above are for the whole series. Each "chapter" is a standalone fic or drabble from a Kink Bingo square, and I will put the appropriate tags and relationships at the beginning of each one. That way you can skip over the ones that you don't care to read. I just wanted to consolidate this whole thing.My Supernatural Kink Bingo card can be foundhere on my Tumblr





	1. Role Playing

**Author's Note:**

> **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** role playing, Endverse!Castiel, modern AU  
>  **SUMMARY:** Dean and Castiel try out role playing for the first time. Dean goes a little overboard.

This, Dean thinks, is the best decision that he's made in his entire life. Yeah, sure, asking Castiel Novak out is up there. Being brave enough to face possible judgement (which he hadn't) and voice his kinks for the first time ever, had been another. Now it's payday, and Dean's cashing in. Because hot _damn_ he looks good in a Stetson.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how it would go down with Castiel when he asked about possible role playing. Cas is pretty easy-going with almost anything, and has thus far indulged Dean happily, but role playing isn't everyone's thing. It's hard to get into character sometimes. A willing suspension of disbelieve isn't always easy to come by. Dean knows that. He'd tried to watch _Sharknado_. But Cas had listened to his request with a big, gummy smile and agreed on the spot. Enthusiastically, even.

Dean grins at the mere memory of it as he takes his time studying himself in the full length mirror hanging from the closet door. He looks pretty fucking authentic, if he's any judge. And he _is_. The Wild West is his jam. He's not going to waste this opportunity in the slightest. That'd be cruel. So he takes his time adjusting the boots and spurs, simple tunic button down shirt, serape, hat, down to the assless chaps. He'd considered going whole hog on the costume with some denim, but this is supposed to be sexy, so he makes an exception.

There's a soft knock on the door and Dean grins. Show time. "It's open!" he calls, letting his gentle Texas drawl deepen. The door opens and Castiel steps into the room, looking mouth watering in the low light. He's dressed the part of a town sheriff; a black vest with the badge pinned to it over his naked chest, black slacks and shiny boots. He stops dead in the entry.

Dean knows his bowed legs are an asset here, so he cocks his hip out as jauntily as he can and says, "howdy, parder."

Castiel blinks, eyes wide as saucers. Then he bursts into the most unholy laughter ever. Hands gripping his sides, doubled over, _howling_ laughter.

Dean takes full offense. "What the fuck?" he demands when he's sure that Castiel can hear him over his own noise.

Castiel straightens up, wiping his flushed face with the meat of his palm to scrub off the tears. "I'm sorry," he gasps. "Dean, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Dude," he says flatly. "You said you were cool with this."

He holds out both hands in a stopping motion while he collects himself. "I am."

"Then, why the fuck are you laughing at me?"

In an instant, Castiel snaps to serious, approaching Dean and touching his shoulder. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at... _this_. Dean, tell me honestly, how much did you spend on this costume?" He flicks at the colorful wrap over Dean's shoulders playfully.

Dean tugs it back in place indignantly. "It's a _serape_ , and it's _authentic_."

"No kidding," Castiel answers. "How much?"

Dean purses his lips, eyes flicking to the ceiling in thought. "Dunno. Maybe... five hundred?"

Castiel's mouth drops open . "Five hundred _dollars_?"

"Yeah. If we're gonna do this, why not do it right?"

Why not, indeed? This is what Castiel loves about Dean, anyway. Always putting his everything into their combined happiness. "I only went to Party City," he admits, slightly ashamed now. He taps the cheap plastic badge on his chest. 

Dean grins. He unpins the badge and tosses it over his shoulder. Then he pulls a new one out of his shirt pocket. Of _course_ he has a real one. It's probably an antique. "Guess we got a new sheriff in town," he murmurs.

The gravel in his voice makes Castiel shiver. "Guess we do, Mr..."

Dean tips the brim of his hat up in a casual salute and crooked smile that has Castiel hardening in his thin trousers. "Call me Ross, Sheriff."

Castiel dips forward to nip Dean's bottom lip. Then he turns, easing his hips back flush against Dean, pleased to feel him hard behind the leather. He reaches around to take a firm handful of his naked ass. "Hell of welcome to town, cowboy."

Dean's hands splay over Castiel's bare chest, sweeping over his warm skin lightly, down to the front of his pants, making short work of the button and zipper. He releases Castiel's dick from his boxers, letting it rest heavy in his palm, not stroking just yet. It's delicious. His breath is hot on the back of Castiel's neck. "I want you to feel like you fit in here, lawman."

Castiel sighs, head falling back onto Dean's shoulder. "Seen how you handle a _gun_ , Mr. Ross. What else can those talented hands do?"

"Things you never even dreamed of," is the answer in that unholy twang.

In that thrilling second when Dean shifts his weight enough so that Castiel is bending forward, palms slapping down onto the mattress, ass in the air, the sheriff realizes that he won't last long. There's just no way.

He feels Dean's cock stiff against his hole for a moment before he shoves down, slick and hot against his balls. Thank fuck he'd had the presence of mind to have a packet of lube at the ready. Castiel squeezes his thighs together, letting Dean rut between them. He takes himself in hand, jacking himself hard in time to Dean's movements.

"Faster, Mr. Ross," he gasps. "Make it so I can't ride a horse for a week."

Dean redoubles his efforts, hips bucking wildly. "Anything, Sheriff." He slips a lubed finger past Castiel's rim, twisting a little until he finds Castiel's prostate, massaging the bundle of nerves relentlessly.

The dual assault is exquisite. Castiel cries out, thighs burning, belly clenching with pure need. He takes his hand off of his own dick, the sensation of Dean's silky length brushing against his is plenty to keep him barreling closer towards release. A handful of thrusts and he's coming with a hoarse curse.

Dean is there a second later, biting down on the back of Castiel's neck as he growls, spilling between his legs, warm and sticky.

Catching their breath takes a bit longer than normal. Castiel, for one, can't remember the last time he came so fast. He'd be embarrassed, but he never is with Dean. He'd never been able to have these sorts of things before. Never even knew that he'd _wanted_ them. But Dean's open and honest and always wanting to try anything that sounds good in theory, magnificent in practice. 

It's not like Castiel thinks himself a prude. But, adventurousness had never really occurred to him. On paper, half the things Dean's suggested before have sounded silly - role playing, for instance. But... it's so much _more_. He's grown to understand the motives, and that's why he always says yes to trying something at least once. This is about exploration. Sometimes outside of themselves, sometimes within. Discovery is intoxicating.

Castiel rolls in Dean's arms, flopping onto the bed, legs dangling. Dean is sweating a little and beaming. "Thanks," he says like Castiel hung the moon.

When it's the exact opposite. "That was fun," he answers, tugging Dean down on top of him, despite the drying come and lube. "We can add it to the regular list, if you want."

Dean contemplates this, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his full lips. "I'm thinking next time, World War II soldier and... what? Military doctor? Spy?"

"I'll wear the suit," Castiel muses. "I'd give anything to fuck you in an old military uniform."

"Sold," Dean chuckles. He leans forward to grab the box of tissues to clean them up with. "You know you're the best, right?"

Castiel shakes his head. " _We_ are," he stresses. There's no best anything without Dean sharing it, after all.

Dean smiles and kisses him properly, conceding the point.


	2. Hand Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel discovers that Dean's hands are... compelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Teen  
>  **TAGS:** hand holding, hand kink, minor injury  
> 

Dean's a fidgeter, Castiel notices. Has noticed. Keeps noticing. The man is always in action in some way or another. It's fascinating. Castiel himself knows stillness. Lives in it. Prefers it when he's not actually doing anything. It's not like he needs to conserve his energy most of the time, but meditation is helpful.

Dean, however... he seems incapable of holding still. It had seemed chaotic until Castiel had studied the hunter more. Realized over time that there's always _intent_ behind Dean's actions. And he protects his hands more than anything else in his entire world. That's why Castiel loves them. Loves watching them. They're steady and exacting. 

Cleaning guns, typing at the laptop's keyboard, drumming to music on the Impala's steering wheel, it's measured and meaningful.

It's... sensual. 

Which is an uncomfortable thought for Castiel until it isn't anymore. Over the years, it becomes as natural to him as breathing.

He wants to hold Dean's hand one day.

Desperately.

He comes close a few times. Like right now. Castiel had been on the wrong end of a hex bag that had burned his hand horribly. And he can't heal it properly. Something in it has proven sticky to his grace so that he'll have to heal the old fashioned way. He'd been angry about that until Dean had sat him down with the first aid kit.

"I can do this myself," Castiel murmurs, not sure why he doesn't want to speak too loudly.

"You waste all the gauze because you're terrible at this," Dean argues, just as quietly, taking Castiel's injured hand in both of his, turning it palm up. Cradling it.

His hands are warm, which is strange the way it makes goosebumps erupt over Castiel's arm. 

Dean notices the small shiver. "Sorry," he says apologetically. "Got lidocaine spray here. Hang on."

Castiel lets the hunter think the pain is causing his reaction while Dean sprays a generous amount of the antiseptic numbing spray over the burn. It flashes white hot for a moment, and then the feeling is gone, thankfully.

"Doesn't look too bad," Dean says distractedly as he studies the blistered flesh, stroking his fingers over the back of Castiel's knuckles absently. "It'll heal pretty quickly. I'll change the dressings for you the next couple of days."

 _Oh, yes, please_. "Thank you," he says.

Deft fingers add light pressure as Dean expertly cleans and bandages the wound, winding the correct amount of gauze around his palm and securing it with a bit of medical tape. "Good as new," he smiles encouragingly. 

It's better than new. "You're hands," Castiel blurts. "They do remarkable things, I've noticed."

Dean's fingers skirt up Castiel's wrist underneath his shirt cuff. His face reddens slightly and Castiel recognizes that this is the point where he's said something that will cause Dean to deflect. He mourns the loss of the moment before it even happens. Until it doesn't happen. 

"Yours do, too," Dean says finally. "That's why you should take care of them." He gives Castiel's fingers one last gentle squeeze and then gets up to put the first aid kit away.

Under the table, Castiel surreptitiously adjusts himself in his pants. That was... compelling. He hopes it happens again under less painful circumstances.


	3. Prostate Milking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel have some bathtub sex!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** prostate milking, bathtub sex, PWP

"I thought this was going to be romantic," Castiel says with a deep frown.

"It is romantic!" Dean protests in his "I'm obviously saying the direct opposite of what I mean" voice.

"Dean."

"Cas."

"We can't fit into this tub together."

"Not with that attitude."

Castiel levels him with a squinting, withering look. "I'm learning the nuances of your voice patterns. And right now your tone indicates that something bad will happen."

Dean scoffs. "O ye of little faith."

If possible, Castiel's mouth pulls down further. "And now your tone indicates there's about a thirty percent chance of death."

"I can always just never fuck you again," Dean snaps.

"I was being generous."

Dean claps his hands together decisively. "Okay, you know what? Your attitude stinks, and so do you. Get naked and get in that freaking romantic-as-shit bubble bath, where I'm going to fuck your brains out and you'll stop scowling."

Castiel nearly cracks a smile. Begins to remove his soiled clothes slowly, one article at a time. Dean sighs in relief and follows along, shedding his layers and hopping into the clawfoot tub, which admittedly, he thought would be bigger from the pictures online he'd seen of the cute B&B before booking it and telling Sam not to wait up after the hunt. Frankly, he'd been happy for the heads up and no chance of walking in on them. 

Castiel scrubs off under the detached shower first while Dean tosses their clothes into one of the plastic laundry bags provided by the hotel, making sure to clear their pockets. Then he comes up behind his angel, kissing his clean shoulders from one end to the other. "You gonna be grumpy our whole vacation?"

Castiel turns his head to the side with a smirk. "All fifteen hours of it?"

"More'n we've had before," Dean murmurs, sliding his hands over every inch of Castiel's wet skin within his reach. Castiel hums in pleasured agreement, pushing back, already hard when Dean's hands make it to his dick. "Come on. I can make this good, kiddie pool tub or not."

It's good enough to get Castiel moving once they're both properly cleaned. He splashes into the tub first, slipping and bracing a hand on the edge with a startled curse. Dean gingerly climbs in after, learning from Castiel's mistake, and they're practically nose to nose even on opposite ends of the tub. It's definitely too small for two grown men. "Standing in the tub while having sex is dangerous," Castiel says.

Dean sinks down to sit, his feet crushed up against the edge, barely long enough and less than comfortable.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel eases himself down into Dean's lap, but the only way that he can fit is mostly undignified, one leg thrown over the side of the tub. At least angels don't get cold. "This is awkward," he mutters.

Dean leans forward, kissing the protest off. "I can make you forget about that."

"Do it," Castiel challenges with a glint in his eyes.

Surging up, Dean deepens the kiss, pinching Castiel's nipples, hitting all of his sensitive spots one after the other until Castiel is moaning, head lolling back against the lip of the tub, torso arching out of the water. Which allows Dean to get into the perfect position, raising his knees so Castiel is pushed up slightly more. "Grab the lube," he orders, eyes raking over every inch of the angel's tanned skin.

Castiel gropes blindly over the edge of the tub until his fingers close over the small foil packet. He lifts it up and plants in Dean's waiting hand.

Dean rips the packet open and drizzles it over one finger. 

Castiel gives him a pointed smirk. "You think that'll be enough?"

"This time," Dean answers with a wolfish grin. Then he sets himself to blowing Castiel's freaking mind. They haven't had much time since they'd gotten together to really sit back and draw out sex. Even now that Sam knows what's going on and therefore respects closed doors a lot more, they still err on the side of being polite.

But they've got fifteen hours to themselves now. Dean'll take as many as he can get. He swirls his slick finger over Castiel's perineum, back to his hole, massaging gently and with only a small amount of pressure. Castiel's dick twitches and falls heavy against his belly. Castiel's hands slap to the lip of the tub, grabbing, slipping, and then finding purchase. 

"Hang on tight," Dean smirks, then his finger slips inside Castiel's heat just to the first knuckle. Castiel sighs and Dean waits for him to relax more before slipping in further. Times like these the tables are turned and Dean's the one to stare without blinking. He hates to miss a millisecond of Castiel's pleasure, because the guy looks _so good_ this way. He throws himself completely into it, always seeking the sensations without a shred of self-consciousness. 

Castiel presses his hips towards Dean's fingers, bearing down, rolling in a tiny circle, greedily trying to position Dean's touch exactly where he wants it. Dean lets him with a grin. The pad of his finger brushes against the tight bundle of nerves. Castiel jerks with a moan. Dean presses more firmly.

" _Dean!_ "

"Not this time, Cas," Dean purrs. "We got all night and then some. I'm not letting you get off so easy this time."

Castiel shudders again as Dean zeroes in on his prostate, rubbing it lightly, pulsing his finger against it. The angel can't seem to catch his breath properly, chest heaving. In a breathless whisper, he pleads, "I don't know what that means... I need... _oh, holy-_!"

He can barely hold himself up against the onslaught. He and Dean have this so many ways so many times. But it's almost too much this time. Every touch, press, massage, jolts through his body, up his spine. He feels like he's going to come in a second but also not for an hour. He's never known if he could without his dick being touched either. It's never... he's never... "Dean, please." His voice is broken and he's begging to come. To know that this sort of pleasure is actually survivable. He's not convinced that it is. Even for an angel. _Especially_ for an angel.

Dean's single-minded focus suggest that he has the same curiosity. "I wanna do this forever," he murmurs, enthralled. "You're..." 

Castiel likes the unfinished thought. It's boundless with every completion of it beautiful. He wants them all. Thankful that Dean's letting them have them.

For now, though, all he can focus on is the intense shocks of near-orgasm coursing through him heavier and heavier. His muscles are taut with his desperation.

Suddenly, his back arches up and he cries out, complete ecstasy washing over him as he dry orgasms. "Dean!" he sobs.

He takes pity. Dean's mouth closes over the head of his cock while Castiel quakes through his first orgasm. He relaxes his mouth and throat, taking Castiel's length in deeper and deeper until there's no further he can go. Dean resists the urge to swallow when Castiel's cock brushes the back of this throat, muscles quivering in such a way that Castiel almost blacks out. It's so good. Dean is so good to him. He knows how to do everything. Take care of him. Worship him. Worship _with_ him. He'll never be able to be without this. 

The second orgasm is just as powerful as the first and he comes down Dean's throat.

It's not over for a long time. Castiel can feel Dean's hands on him gently against his oversensitive skin. On his hands, carefully prying off his death grip against the lip of the tub. Back into the water. It's soothing as he collapses into Dean's lap. His eyes feel weighed when he manages to pry them open. "What _was_ that?" he croaks.

Dean kisses him soundly. "The beginning of the best night of our lives," he answers.


	4. Gun Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel tries to reason with Demon Dean to save him. It doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Demon!Dean/Castiel  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** gun play, frottage, dry humping, Demon Dean, Angel Castiel

The gun is loaded. It's pressed cold against Castiel's temple. And it's full of angel killing bullets. "Dean," he breathes, trying not to move a hair.

"I told you not to come for me, Cas," Dean drawls into Castiel's ear, pressed against him and radiating stinking, sulfur-y power. "Don't you care that I can kill you now? Now, I know you got a thing for noble sacrifice... hell, I probably taught you some of that, but an angel blade is more permanent than whatever else's been heaped on ya, am I right?"

Castiel doesn't move a single muscle. "You're probably right." His voice is flat, emotionless.

"So, what's the deal? Aw, don't tell me you're so sad about me goin' darkside that you're thinking about making a _real_ sacrifice-"

"Shut up, Dean!" Castiel snaps, still as a statue. "That's not what this is about."

Dean presses ever closer, chest to Castiel's back, the gun sliding with him from temple to the divot between his collarbone and neck.

Castiel shivers almost imperceptibly, but Dean can tell seeing as how he's as close as can be to him. "Tell me what it is about."

"I want to save you." He sounds choked with it. 

Dean scoffs. "Boring. Sammy said the same thing to me. I don't wanna be saved. I happen to like the way that I am now."

"No," Castiel grits severely.

Dean jerks away, slipping in front of Castiel, who still doesn't move. The gun remains firmly in place. Dean's eyes flick down and up in a clear once over. He's... hungrier than Castiel has ever seen him before. "No?" he purrs. Dean lurches forward and Castiel's back hits the brick wall.

"You're not like this," Castiel insists. "You _do_ want to be saved. You've _always_ wanted to be saved, even when you didn't think that you should be. You've gone to war for the souls of those you love."

Dean jacks his knee between Castiel's thighs, straddling him, grinding down teasingly, knowing by the way that Castiel's gaze narrows, that he has him against the ropes. "Back then, I didn't know how much better it would be like this."

"De-"

Dean thrusts the gun up hard against the tender skin underneath Castiel's jaw, snapping his teeth together. Of course, they both know that Castiel might be able to resist him with his angelic strength quicker than Dean could pull the trigger, but it seems like a moot point.

There's a lot of pretense here. Always has been. Dean used to care about it. Now he doesn't. The demon just _wants_. And wants, and wants, and fucking _wants_. And right now it don't see an angel. It sees something Dean Winchester's felt strongly about. Guilty about. Undeserving of. For a very long time. His rotten, demon soul doesn't give a shit about the human part. And all that Dean knows is that when he gives in, it burns another small piece of his humanity away. But it also burns another small piece of the ache away. He wants that to happen. He wants to be able to hurt everyone enough that they won't forgive him, because otherwise they'll try to _help_ him, and every day he wants that less and less.

Castiel's palms flatten against the wall. He glares at Dean. Doesn't stop when Dean shifts his leg and notices a prominent hard-on underneath Castiel's suit pants. "That's dangerous right there," Dean sneers, bucking his hips, grinding against Castiel's leg.

The angel lets out a hard breath through his nose, head rolling back, eyes closing. He says nothing, though something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper trembles in his throat.

Dean leans forward and bits Castiel's bottom lip before pulling back, rubbing his dick against the angel's leg in earnest. He doesn't bother to damper his breathy moans. Castiel responds by squeezing his thighs around Dean's leg, dry humping him with unpracticed, erratic thrusts.

"That's good, sunshine," Dean murmurs close to Castiel's ear, flicking his tongue around the sensitive lobe. He can hear Castiel grinding his teeth. "We've always wanted this, haven't we? Never would have worked before. I couldn't've done it." The gun slips slightly in his sweaty hand, loosening Castiel's jaw.

The angel digs his nails into the brick, panting now. "What did you want?" he gasps. "What did you want from me back then?" He sounds like he wants Dean to take pity on him with an actual answer.

So Dean slides the muzzle of the gun down, making Castiel quake. It comes to rest directly over his heart, and Castiel coughs out a sob, pumping his hips harder.

Dean's lips are an inch away. "Bang," he says, then sears their lips together in a bruising kiss.

Castiel comes with a breath that paralyzes his lungs, Dean a second later. Before the angel has even a second to recover, Dean's stepped back, forearm bent up, tapping the handle of the gun against his shoulder. He's grinning, all teeth, heedless of the obscene wet spot on his jeans. "Get the hell out of here, Cas."

Castiel closes his eyes. Raises his head towards the Heaven. Tries to pray, but he can't. Maybe he never can again. When he opens his eyes again he's outside the bunker. It's cold outside. Freezing. He remembers Dean's hot mouth on him. He reaches up and massages his jaw, feeling the thrilling, phantom pain of the metal digging into his skin. Dean hadn't pulled the trigger. It's not a lot, but he's hoped with less. With that small thread in his heart, he pulls open the screeching door, ready to report to Sam that they should keep trying. They should always keep trying.


	5. Public Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel get some action on the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** threesome, public sex, handjobs, dry humping, alcohol use, incest, Wincestiel

It's not a stretch for both Sam and Dean Winchester to admit that a lot of the things in their lives - good and bad - have sort of happened by chance. On the surface, they don't exactly have a lot in common. They're not into the same food, music, books, movies. But at the same time, they're into the same things. They love rowdy movie theatres on opening night, even though one of them will be booing the entire time. They love crowded restaurants on Friday nights, even though one of them will bitch about wasting money on a crappy meal. And they _love_ concerts. Outdoors, indoors, arenas, basement clubs, doesn't matter. One of them will hate the music, but they'll both love the thump in their chests as the music becomes a physical thing. The ebb and flow of warm bodies around them. The euphoria of drinking and dancing until their legs nearly give out. The fact that Castiel will actually join them. 

It's a fucking _awesome_ show tonight. The band is a great throwback rock mix with heavy drum lines. The club is also good. Geared towards a less glow stick and K crowd, and more for an "actually here to enjoy the band" crowd. 

It's later in the set when Sam and Dean realize that they have another thing in common. It's Castiel. Castiel who stuffed a bottle of absinthe down his pants so he wouldn't have to share it along with the door charge when they came in. And the shit is _real_. The bottle is gone, and the trio are fucking _flying_ on it.

Dean's not sure if it's the drink or something he's just never noticed, but Castiel can _dance_. He's sandwiched between them, facing Dean, backed up against Sam, and the things he's doing are probably illegal in the Red states. It's setting Dean's skin on fire. He wants to touch him _so badly_. Always kinda has. And they are touching already. More intimate than it should be. Probably more than Castiel is meaning it to be. He's swaying to the bass beat, one arm flung up around Sam's neck to keep him close, the other around Dean's waist, fingers hooked into his belt buckle to keep him at the same tempo. His head falls back, eyes closed, lips parted. Sweat glistens on his throat.

Dean's eyes flick up to catch his brother's gaze. Sam is wide-eyed, long hair matted to his forehead in frizzy strands. He blinks at Dean and licks his lips. He says something that Dean can't hear over the music, but looks suspiciously like, "I want him."

Dean's heart thuds. He says, "me, too."

Sam obviously can't hear him, but he nods anyway.

Castiel _has_ heard them. He's always had sensitive ears. He could probably hear a mouse fart. A slow, sexy smile slips across his face and he yanks Sam and Dean at the same time, bringing their bodies together tightly, still moving. Always moving.

Sam's close enough now that Dean can hear him when he moans.

Castiel's eyes flutter open and he winks at Sam. Arches his neck. Sam bends down and kisses him. It's messy and open mouthed. Dean stares, getting harder by the second.

Then Castiel breaks away from him, head lolling forward and tasting Dean lazily with breathy moans tripping from his throat. 

Sam's hands snake down Castiel's sides, rucking his shirt up and palming at his overheated skin, then lower straight down the front of his jeans. Castiel gasps and bites down on Dean's bottom lip. 

Instinctively, Dean reached out and grabs Sam's biceps, holding him in place, blocking them from view. No one notices or cares. There's a lot of rapture going around, and not enough to pay any mind to strangers around them save for a jostle every now and then.

Castiel's hand leaves Dean's waist. His long fingers draw a circle from his lower back to his stomach, almost tickling if he hadn't been so turned on. Then Castiel presses his palm against Dean's abs, sliding down the front of his pants, rubbing his cock gently in the same circles their hips are making unconsciously to the music. 

Sam grinds against Castiel's ass, adding waves of pressure and release to their hips and he moans louder when Castiel's hand tangles tightly in his hair, yanking. Sam's head drops down and he sucks hard at Castiel's neck, reveling in the salt and musk.

The hard beat swells and swells and Dean isn't ashamed that he comes first, finally stuttering off the tempo and soaking Castiel's hand. He grins and kisses Dean deeply, thrusting his tongue in his mouth. Sam's next and he comes so hard that he jerks forward and nearly topples them for a moment, but Castiel rebalances them as he shudders and comes with a guttural shout that Dean wants to hear about a million more times. 

They keep swaying together in an afterglow, wiping their hands on Dean's flannel that he cinched across his waist an hour ago. Their eyes open slowly, flitting from one to the other. Sam smiles. Dean smiles. Castiel smiles.

"Let's get out of here," Castiel says.

"I'm hungry," Dean says.

"I could eat," Sam says. "A lot."

They don't untangle their hands the whole way home.


	6. Rock On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Castiel own their own tattoo and piercing parlor. Dean and Sam are both renowned for their skills as tattoo artists, and people come from all over to buy Castiel's handmade jewelry and get pierced by him. Dean and Castiel have been together for twenty years and through their mutual talents have found a way to mark each other permanently in their own unique way.
> 
> **This drabble was inspired by[this incredible piece of art](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/post/161959954760/rock-on-boys) courtesy of [ winchester-reload](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! The art is used with permission.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** hand jobs, tattooing, piercing, body art, tattoo artist!Dean, piercing artist! Castiel, tattooed Dean, tattooed Castiel

Castiel and Dean sit across from each other on the black leather rolling stools tucked back in Dean's tattoo station, and stare at each other. Castiel's clear blue eyes are focused unblinkingly on Dean's mouth. Dean's bright green eyes have unerringly found the spot he loves on Castiel's neck, on the soft skin between his ear and shoulder. Right side. Always the right side. Fuck, but he'd marked that pristine spot up a thousand times when they were kids macking in the back of the Impala. Before they'd been brave enough to dye their hair. Before Dean had given Castiel his first tattoo during his apprenticeship and inadvertently spent three hours suffering the guy's broken moans and hard on that neither one of them had expected. Before Castiel had nearly fucked up Dean's first cartilage piercing when the brief shot of pain had launched Dean from the chair to the floor, dry humping Castiel until they'd both come in their jeans.

Dean grins. _Ah, youth._

"Your smile is unnerving," Castiel frowns.

"Just remembering," Dean answers.

Unconsciously, Castiel rubs the back of his head against a long ago phantom pain. "You nearly busted my head open. This is a bad idea. Sam should do the ink."

"Not this time. Please, Cas."

In all honesty, Sam _is_ a better tattoo artist than Dean. He's got a light touch, calming presence, and steadier hands than a surgeon. He's known for his exacting lines and especially blackwork. Dean, on the other hand, is better at free form and had had the good fortune to learn watercolor tattooing well enough that his appointments book out a year in advance. For his part, Castiel is superb with piercings of any and all kinds. He even designs his own jewelry; surgical quality and beautiful. Lately he's been designing what he calls "grace containers." Glowing stones set into medical grade titanium and they get snapped up almost faster than he can make them.

And with few exceptions, Castiel's tattoos have all been done by Sam. From the protection sigils on his hands to the blackwork down his neck and chest, Sam Winchester has most of the permanent marks on Castiel's body. Dean's cool with it, really since it's the same with him. They're sublime canvases for his little brother, their bodies full works of art now, but this time? It has to be Dean.

Castiel's eyes soften at Dean's plea. "You're right. It should be you. It's important. But I can't be held accountable for my actions during and after."

Dean barks a laugh. "I'm ready for that."

Squinting, Castiel says, "Sam will kill us if he catches us fucking in the studio. Again."

"He's at the convention. He'll never know."

Castiel scoots forward until they're nose to nose. "He always knows."

Dean kisses him hard and long. Then he pulls back, ruffling Castiel's carefully styled rainbow mohawk until it's nothing but stiff spikes across his forehead. "We're big boys, Cas. We've waited long enough."

"Twenty years exactly," Castiel murmurs. "It's time."

Dean leans back, bracing his palms on the stool between his spread legs looking a lot younger than thirty-five. Castiel draws away, collecting his piercing kit and scooting the rolling tray around to his side. He takes his time setting the clamp and the jewelry, making sure the piercing needle is completely sterilized. While he prepares he says conversationally, "I like the blue hair by the way. You should do that color more often."

Dean grins. "'Course you do. It matches your eyes." He winks and Castiel rolls his baby blues in response.

Then he turns to inspect the jewelry carefully. This one is the best he's made. It's simple, but means everything to him. Titanium with a glowing, smooth blue diamond in the center. He's been practicing for twenty years just to make this. "Ready?" He slips on latex gloves and holds up the alcohol wipes.

Dean sits up straight and still. "Yeah. Go for it." 

Castiel pulls up close. "Dean Winchester," he says in his hypnotically soothing voice. He swaps below Dean's bottom lip with the alcohol and iodine. "You are the light of my life." He clamps the space and Dean's eyes slip shut. "I've loved you since the first time we met, and I'll love you for eternity." With a steady, even pressure, he pierces the skin with the needle. Dean's moan sticks in his throat as he struggles to stay perfectly still. "Would you do me the honor of marrying me?" He follows the needle through with the stud, clipping it in place and removing the clamp.

Dean's eyes open wide, finding his unerringly. "Yes," he says roughly.

Castiel douses the spot with disinfectant and smiles. "Kiss me gently or it'll hurt."

Dean leans forward, lips barely touching. They brush together until it tingles. Dean's fully hard when they pull apart and Castiel looks breathless. "My turn," Dean whispers.

The piercing tray gets shoved aside and Dean gestures for Castiel to sit up in the leather chair, letting him relax back at half an incline. Castiel strips off his shirt while Dean preps his table, already mostly set up in anticipation of this moment. He double checks everything, then puts his gloves on, shaving the fine hairs on Castiel's neck and swabbing the area clean. He doesn't have a stencil for the tattoo; doesn't need one. Castiel's request had been simple. He wanted Dean's initials where everyone could see them, exactly as he'd carved them with his pocket knife on the kitchen table in the bunker. It won't take long.

Dean picks up the ink and turns on the tattoo gun. The buzzing makes Castiel swallow hard and shut his eyes as Dean had before. Smiling, Dean makes sure everything's in order. "You ready?" he asks, only loud enough to be heard over the buzz.

"Do it," Castiel gasps, and then holds very still, white knuckling the arms on the chair.

Dean raises the tattoo gun and presses into the first line on his neck. "Castiel Novak," he begins, face close to the skin, forgetting about everything except for the work he's doing. "You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me." He etches his initials into Castiel's neck with as gentle pressure as he can, sure straight lines, one after another. "The first time you touched me... kissed me. I knew I was a goner for life. It ain't a bad thing. Everything I got to give is yours." He's silent for the rest of his work, swiping away ink and a slight amount of blood as he goes. Another line. Another. On the last one of the "W," he says, "will you marry me and promise to stay with me forever?"

He finishes and shuts off the tattoo gun, carefully placing it back on the table. He cleans the spot thoroughly and tapes plastic wrap over it. He pulls off his gloves and comes back with a tissue, swiping at the tear tracks on Castiel's cheeks.

Castiel squirms at the tightness in his jeans and in his throat, and opens his eyes to find Dean leaning directly over him. The new tattoo throbs in time to his rapid heartbeat. "Yes," he says. "It would be an honor."

Dean swings himself up into the chair, straddling Castiel and kissing him as deeply as he can, rolling his hips against Castiel's hardness until his own dick rallies from where it had flagged in the last half hour. His chin burns like a bruise, but he can't stop kissing Castiel, exploring his mouth, lips light on the contact, but tongues firm. Castiel's fingers are in his hair, tugging at the light blue strands, holding him close. With his hands occupied, Dean picks up the slack to rip apart belt buckles and unbutton jeans. He's even got tissues at the ready so they don't make a mess that Sam will kill them for later.

He adjusts their cocks side by side, stroking them in time in his callused hands, pumping them fast, moving with Castiel as his hips buck, fucking into Dean's hand with abandon. 

Breaking away from the kiss Castiel begins his beautiful litany of, "Dean, _Dean_ , Dean, _fuck_ don't stop. Keep going. Don't stop, don't stop, don'tstopDeandon'tstop!"

Dean strokes faster and faster. Castiel moans, back bowing, muscles clenching. Dean cups the tissues over the head of his dick just in time. Castiel's shudders and nonsensical praise bring him swiftly over the edge with a quiet curse. "Cas," he breathes. "Love you, fucking love you. Love you, love you."

They take their time coming down, though Dean wipes them off and tosses the tissues into the wastebasket. 

Castiel kisses him once. Twice. He smiles slow, sated. "I love you."

Dean puts their foreheads together. "Love you, too. You wanna let Sam do the heat around my initials later, or you gonna risk it with me?"

Castiel chuckles and tucks himself back into his pants. "Sam can do the rest. The important part for you is done."

Dean lethargically gets out of the chair and stretches after fixing his jeans. "Maybe I should get your initials, too. It's more permanent."

Castiel reaches out and swats him on the ass. "Right there so only I can see it."

Laughing, Dean says, "Why not? It's one of the few spaces left."

Castiel groans as he hauls himself up to standing, too. He loops his arms around Dean's waist. "Let's go home, you damn punk."

Dean squeezes him into a tight hug. "Sure thing, ya damn punk."


	7. Eternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't turn around," Dean pleads. Castiel holds still.
> 
> And yet again, [Winchester-Reload](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com) has inspired me to write smut based on [this incredibly intimate water color painting](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/post/162205839885/nothing-was-as-eternal-as-deans-touch-and) she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** frottage, kissing, friends to lovers

"Don't turn around. Just... don't turn around." The words are soft-hard, compelling.

Castiel doesn't turn around. Clenches his ruined shirt in his hands. Goosebumps rise on his naked skin, but he's not cold. He's never cold.

"You okay?" Dean asks gruffly.

Words inexplicably stuck in his throat for a moment, Castiel answers, "I'll heal quickly." And he does. He flexes his shoulders and the wounds begin to knit over, cauterized by the blue glow of his grace.

"You shoulda taken me with you."

Castiel's about to turn around when he remembers that Dean said not to for whatever reason. He stalls the movement. "I handled it."

"I wanted to go with you."

Slightly irritated, Castiel says, "I don't require a babysitter anymore." His muscles jump when a single finger runs down one of the scars from shoulder blade to the center spine.

"That's not why." It's said so softly.

There are moments, Castiel realizes, that are hinged on other moments. Moments that cut the wheel right or left, never down the old road ever again. This, he thinks, is one of those moments. And it might just be up to him to cut the wheel to one direction or another. Or stay the course. Which, he believes would be foolishly pointless. There's too much now. Too many actions and words that have unpaved the safe road over the years until this second when Dean puts up the "road closed" sign.

Both hands rove over Castiel's shoulder in some strange echo of a massage that instead of releasing the tension, increases it. The angel wants to push back into the warm touch, but he's afraid of what Dean will do if he moves. Afraid of what Dean _won't_ to. He's so exhausted of what they haven't been doing for years.

Breath is at his ear, Dean's body heat inevitable from the almost touch along his back, and Dean barely breathes, "please don't turn around." His hands swipe over Castiel's ribs, snake around to the front, over his stomach.

The tingling ecstasy makes Castiel feel like he's going to float away. He's dizzy with the too much/not enough pleasure. And he still doesn't move.

Dean's left hand pushes ever higher until it's cradling Castiel's jaw. The angel can barely feel it, and he absolutely does not move. He stares at the wall, praying it grounds him.

Soft lips press against the back of his neck, the most profound, firm touch so far. _Don't move don't move don't move._ Castiel's lips part. He sighs. _Please Dean don't move don't move._

The pressure disappears with Dean's mouth.

Unbidden, Castiel murmurs, "what are we?" He can feel the puff of air from Dean's silent laugh against the knob of his spine at the base of his neck.

"Not friends anymore. I screwed that up."

"I wish you would," Castiel breathes. There's sound to the laugh now. Not a lot, but enough that he knows he hasn't said anything wrong.

"Turn around, Cas."

He's not sure he can. But he does. Dean's left hand holds its position, sliding around his chin to rest against the back of his neck. Still feather light. Still trapping Castiel more surely than those angel-proofed handcuffs.

Eyes open, Dean watches himself brush his lips to Castiel's. The angel does the same. It's pointless to close his eyes. It would only make it less real, when Castiel thinks it's actually eternal. In fact, he didn't realize that kissing Dean would actually be so easy. He hasn't kissed many people in his long life, but enough to know that there's always something that they all want from it. Ways they direct it so that it becomes a give and take.

Dean's not like that. They move together, each a half step closer, barely increasing the pressure. Castiel's lips are still parted, and Dean sighs into it, pressure increased, but no tongues or teeth. Just a small open and close, Dean's lips closing around Castiel's bottom lip briefly as he ends it.

Castiel can't even see straight. The world spins with it.

Dean's right hand brushes down until it smooths over Castiel's ass, pressing them together and they're both hard through the thin cotton of their pajama pants. Castiel's never seen the need for underwear, and Dean's obviously not done laundry in a while. Each step backward towards the bed is an agonizing, nearly ticklish thrust of their dicks together.

Castiel sits down gently while Dean follows him down fluidly, straddling his thighs. He keeps rolling his hips, the small friction just barely enough. A breathy whimper slips past Castiel's lips. 

Dean taps their foreheads together as he moves. Eyes still open. Touch still profound. "Don't say anything," he pleads.

This is familiar ground. Castiel is used to strange rules that he decided long ago only make sense to humans, but that's good enough. He obeys because the heat coiling in his core demands that he does. And Dean had asked. Gingerly, he allows himself to move. Gentle rolls of his hips up. 

Dean breathes what would have been a moan if there was any sound to it. 

Castiel hears the clank of the old pipes in the walls. Dean's increasingly erratic breathing. His own blood rushing through his ears. He goes against Dean's command. "I love you," he whispers. 

Dean comes silent and trembling, hips grinding down in the most significant pressure yet. Until he crashes their lips together and bites down on Castiel's bottom lip in a more ferocious repeat of their first kiss. 

Castiel comes with a groan rumbling in his chest. 

He can hear the air conditioner hum on. The wooden floorboards settled and creaking. Both of their heavy breathing.

"Love you, too," Dean whispers.

And it's eternal.


	8. Sabriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabriel make a deal in a time of crisis. Gabriel saves their lives, Sam makes it worth his while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Gabriel/Sam Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** wing kink, Sabriel, blow job, established relationship, canon universe

"We're going to die here," Sam sighs with miserable resignation.

"We're not going to die here," Gabriel answers with the same miserable resignation. He's said the same thing about five times now.

Sam leans back, a solid wall of warmth against Gabriel's spine and he tips his head up until it's resting against the angel's shoulder. "We should probably get some sleep," he mutters. "Do you need to sleep, or you got enough mojo?"

Gabriel positions his body the same way, staring at the dripping, grimy warehouse ceiling, letting it blur in his unfocused vision. "I could go for a nap. The circle's draining me pretty good, not gonna lie."

Sam's whole body winces with Gabriel's admission. Holy oil fires and trapping circles didn't used to do much except hold Gabriel for a time, but now... "What kind of fucked up magic is this?" Sam asks, wearier by the second. It's even draining _him_. He's wearier by the second.

"Witches, man," Gabriel sighs. "Always finding new and unusual ways to make people die horribly."

"Yeah," Sam breathes. His legs slide out on the concrete floor.

Gabriel's wrists twitch and he shifts their bound hands to thread their fingers together. Sam makes a small noise like a choked off sob and clenches Gabriel's hands tightly, ignoring the bite from the handcuffs, rolling his shoulders to distribute the ache. Gabriel leans forward a little. "Need me to move?"

"Don't move," Sam answers. "Just gotta get the blood flowing again. Not comfortable having my hands behind my back for so long."

Gabriel nods, his hair brushing against Sam's neck. "How's your wrist?"

"Probably broken," Sam grunts.

Gabriel squeezes tighter and Sam feels a shot of heat up his arm.

"Gabriel, don't!" He says in alarm. "You're too drained!"

But the damage is done. Gabriel leans more weight backwards with a groan, and when Sam turns his head slightly, he can see the archangel's eyes closed, thin lips twisted in a grimace.

Sam tries to say his name, but his throat is clogged. This is all his fault. They're dying and he did this to them.

"Don't cry, Samshine," Gabriel murmurs, almost unintelligible, face relaxing, but his eyes too heavy to open yet.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel," he manages to rasp. "I shouldn't have gotten you into this."

Gabriel rolls his head back and forth. "Naaaaaah," he drawls almost like he's drunk. He chuckles. His voice is thick and stronger when he says, "I'm glad it's me."

Sam snorts. "Why? Was it your dream to die holding hands with me or something?"

Gabriel's wan smile pushes his cheek against Sam's. "So what if it was? Don't you judge me."

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward. "Why are you like this? I'm being serious."

"So am I!" Gabriel insists, sounding more lucid than he has in an hour. His hazel eyes open, jaw set, staring at the far wall. "Ever since the angels were told about the Winchester family line, we've taken an interest."

"No shit," Sam bites.

This time Gabriel's grip on his hands is purposefully painful. "You need to listen to me, Sam. You need to hear this. Are you listening?"

He doesn't want to, but he will. "I'm listening."

"Good, 'cause you're gonna hate me for this, but Imma tell you anyway. I know I stayed out of the fight for a long time. Too damn long. And you should resent me for that because you're smart. But I..." he swallows audibly. "The benefit of laying low is that you get forgotten after awhile. Made it easier for me to get any information I wanted because I wasn't on a side so no one worked quite as hard to keep me from hearing their plans. I mean, I ignored a lot of them, 'cause come on. Heaven and their freaking _plans_. Always plans, always schemes, one after another."

Sam huffs his agreement.

"It went on and on, and honestly? I didn't give a shit. But then... _ha_ , then the glorious love story of Mary and John Winchester. The rise and the fall. Was the best soap opera on angel radio in centuries. I watched it just like everyone else. Didn't exactly care, but what angel does, y'know? Sure, we were all kinda worried when the dominoes started to fall, but it all went to plan for a while. Then the spanner in the works, right? One single schmuck decided to break ranks and reveal himself to humans because he thought God wanted him to. And he second he got a taste of freedom, he was all about that sweet, sweet sauce."

"Me and Dean wouldn't have made it this far without Cas," Sam points out.

"I _know_ ," Gabriel fumes. "I _know_ that. He's freaking next level doing what he did. But, are ya ready for this, Sam my man? This is the part you're gonna hate me for." All of it is laced with venom now, the volume rising with every word, and Sam listens quietly. "I knew about you before he did. I watched you. All the time. But I chickened out because I didn't have the brainpower to watch all of this happen. I loved my family too much to watch them destroy themselves, and each other, and Sam-Fucking-Winchester, I loved you from the _moment_ you were conceived, and you suffered and died and burned and wept because Castiel was stronger than me, but he didn't know you existed until he pulled your bro outta Hell. It shoulda been me, it shoulda been the second you were born, but love wasn't _enough_!"

The last word echoes ominously.

They're silent for a long time. Gabriel is tensed against Sam's back like he's awaiting judgment, and Sam lets him stew for a while because he _is_ angry. But after a few minutes, he's not. He can't be. Love _isn't_ enough. It never was. Sometimes it's the entire reason everything goes to shit. Sometimes it's the reason that you have to leave your older brother buried only for him to come back later pissed off about it. Sometimes it's the reason you get beaten and cuffed and left to die with the one being in existence who you're kind of okay dying with.

And sometimes it's enough. Sometimes it makes you realize that you're not as ready to die as you thought you were. "I don't wanna die," Sam whispers. "I can't go back to the cage."

"No, Sam," Gabriel says forcefully. He presses every inch of himself that he can to the human. "You're not. I won't let you. I never did enough for you, but I'm gonna promise you right here, right now: if you die here, I'm taking you wherever you wanna go. I'll give you whatever freaking piece of Heaven you desire. And I..." he chokes on it, hiccuping on his own confession. "If you want... for the rest of forever, I'll do whatever you want. Even if it's pissing off to the other side of eternity."

Sam isn't the Winchester who's afraid to cry. He's doing so now, freely, and he allows it to happen. Encourages it. "You're such an _asshole_ ," he sobs.

"Don't I know it," Gabriel says regretfully.

Sam sniffles loudly. "You wanna make it up to me?"

"Every day of my eternal life."

"Then take me _home_ ," Sam begs. He's beyond being brave anymore. The love is too much for that. "I'm tired of dying. I'm done with being lost. I'm over hearing anymore goddamn apologies. I want something good for a change. For me."

"Like what?" Gabriel asks softly, as though he knows it's out of his power to provide.

"How about _you_?' Sam snarls.

Gabriel startles.

"Yeah," Sam growls, enjoying his surprise. "Why don't you be an archangel for once, huh? Rescue the lowly ape you're tied to right now? Take me home where I can lay you out, shove my dick down your throat, and show you _exactly_ how much I forgive you for being an angel? Make up for it, Gabe. For once in your eternal life, _make up for it_."

With a sudden roar, Gabriel bends double, straining with every part of his being. The handcuffs shatter. He cries out in triumph and steps around Sam, clumsily falling into his lap. Sam catches himself on his palms against the floor, pain shooting up his arms again at the awkward angle, but luckily Gabriel isn't that heavy. The archangel is panting against his neck, chest heaving against the hunter's. Sam brushes his lips against the angel's ear. "Gabe," he murmurs.

"I'm ten seconds away from nothingness if you don't let me touch your soul," he rushes to say in a single breath.

It has to be true. They were at the end of their energy an hour ago. Gabriel is shaking like a leaf.

"You can," Sam answers.

"I didn't want to," Gabriel admits, squashing his nose against Sam's shoulder. "You dying is a hell of a lot different than me killing you."

Smiling, Sam says, "you won't kill me. You've got too much incentive to keep me alive."

Gabriel pulls back. Presses his hand to the center of Sam's chest. "I never could resist the business end of a blowjob." He kisses Sam deeply as he slowly sinks his hand into his chest. Sam screams into his mouth, and Gabriel is sorry to cause him pain, but after this? He'll make damn sure that the pleasure outstrips it by a mile.

***

When Sam comes to, he's completely comfortable splayed out on his back. In his bed. In his room.

He's also not alone. Gabriel is starfished on his back beside him snoring up a storm.

He's alive. They're _alive_. A strange sort of giggle/sob breaks open in Sam's chest. He flops his arm out, smacking Gabriel's chest several times until the archangel _oofs_ and cracks his eyes open. 

A lazy, exhausted grin spreads over his head. "You know what?" he rumbles, gravel-rough. "I'm a fucking knight in shining armor."

"You look like you've been sleeping for two days," Sam grins.

"Almost three," Gabriel agrees. "You okay?"

Sam rolls over right on top of Gabriel. "Dunno. You might have to check me over for injury."

"Is this about the dick thing?"

"This is about the dick thing." Sam presses a series of gentle kisses along Gabriel's jaw and mouth, neither of them having enough energy for any kind of frantic movements as much as they'd like to.

It doesn't matter, though. It's plenty for Gabriel to thicken in his boxers, Sam thrilled at it. He's pushing cotton down their thighs, leaving only bare skin where it counts the most.

"Wanna taste you," Sam murmurs, eyes sweeping over the angel below him. 

Gabriel grins. "Thought the pleasure would be mine."

Sam locks his leg around the backs of Gabriel's knees, flipping them so that Gabriel is on top. "Please," he growls.

Gabriel whisks away their clothes in a heartbeat, at the moment one of his more useful party tricks for which Sam is eternally grateful for. Gabriel strokes himself a few times, staring at Sam like the innards of a pinata, chuckling in pleasure. "Your wish is always my command, Samshine."

"Great. Then gimme something to hold onto."

Gabriel bends forward to press a wet, messy kiss to Sam's lips. "You're the best freaking thing," he says adoringly, then he straightens, flexing his shoulders, brassy golden wings exploding from his back. He stretches them out fully, fluffing the feathers. He can't help peacocking a little for Sam. Even if he doesn't understand the significance of wing shows, but he appreciates them. And Gabriel understands. The meaning isn't lost on either of them, regardless. When he folds them back towards his shoulders again, Sam reaches up, digging his fingers into the scapulars, into the muscles where Gabriel is most sensitive. They both moan, and Gabriel's dick pulses warningly. He releases himself and scoots his forward on his knees until he's even with Sam's mouth.

Gabriel thumbs into Sam's mouth. The human opens willingly for him. The thumb presses against his tongue, pushing his jaw open, pulling him forward. He slides easily into Sam's heat, sighing like he's found water in the desert. His knuckle slides against the underside of his cock, adding a delicious amount of pressure to the wetness of his lover's tongue. Sam's incredible. He can take anything. Wants everything. Gabriel slowly shoves forward until he's completely engulfed, touching the back of Sam's throat. He feels him swallow convulsively, muscles flexing in protest, but he relaxes easily. Gabriel slips his thumb out, and Sam is free to wrap his lips around the whole length.

It's exquisite.

There's nothing else like it. And Gabriel would know because there are few pleasures in any realm that he hasn't experienced at least once. Twice when he liked it.

He braces his hand on Sam's shoulders, gently rolling his hips, staring at Sam as he slowly fucks into his mouth. Sam's eyes flutter closed and he moans deeply. Gabriel can feel it in the base of his spine. 

These are the moments he loves the best. Normally being with humans in any capacity - sexual or not - is often a recipe for frantic action or total inaction. Gliding together slowly like molasses is so rare. So precious. Sam lets Gabriel move how he likes. Takes it all as though he can't imagine anything he'd enjoy doing more. Perpetuating the lie that they have all the time in the world.

Gabriel takes it. Thrust after smooth, languid thrust. The pleasure builds so slowly that he can almost ignore it, but then Gabriel wraps his right hand around Sam's cock and strokes him slowly as well. He notices the build because he's studying Sam so closely. Sam's breathing gradually begins to increase. His body slowly starts to tense.

The electricity in Gabriel's veins builds and builds. It takes him higher than his wings ever could. "Sam," he whispers. "Keep your eyes closed tight, lover."

Sam hums his agreement against Gabriel's cock, obeying. Gabriel jacks him faster, thrusts deeper, revels in the beads of sweat rolling down his temples. He carefully covers Sam's eyes and gasps, overwhelmed by his orgasm, grace unable to stay contained. He casts his eyes to the ceiling, shorting out the lights as his true form struggles to remain intact, exploding light all around them. He's able to bite off the ringing before he's able to stuff his grace back into the vessel that Sam prefers.

When his eyes aren't threatening to burn holes into Sam's brain, he opens them. Looks back at his most perfect, precious person.

Sam's eyes are still closed, even when he removes his hand. He grins and licks his sticky lips. "That was amazing," he rasps, sated.

"Fuckin' love you," Gabriel praises.

"Love you, too," Sam answers. Always taking what Gabriel gives him. Always.

It's bliss.


	9. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel are the bodyguards for international superstar, Sam Winchester. They're also secret lovers with a lot of kinks up their sleeves.
> 
> Based off of [this EW photo shoot](http://jupiterjames.tumblr.com/post/163290016931/violue-i-love-everyone-in-this-bar#notes) and the Misha/Jensen bodyguard pose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** Bodyguard!Dean, Bodyguard!Castiel, Actor!Sam, handcuffs, light bondage, spanking, established relationship, frottage, secret relationship, Dom Castiel, Sub Dean

"Jesus, Jesus, _Jesus_ ," Sam mutters over and over like he's stuck in a feedback loop. "I thought we were gonna leave out a back entrance."

"This _is_ the back entrance," Dean growls, blocking Sam's left flank from the pressing bodies and incessant camera flashes. "Cas, what do you say about blacklisting this fucking hotel in the future?"

"Agreed," Castiel grunts, bodily shoving the crowd back and trying his absolute best to cut a path to the town car, which seems an unattainable goal even though it's only about fifteen feet away. The paparazzi aren't moving until they get their shots of Sam Winchester, international superstar. 

Dean shouts obscenities at his side of the roiling crowds, and Castiel rolls his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses because even he's figured out by now that the media loves riling up the surly bodyguard almost as much as paying their mortgages off of candid shots of Sam. If they ever figured out that Sam and Dean were _brothers_ ; he can't even think about it.

"This isn't working," Castiel notes grimly through his throat mic. In his peripheral vision he sees Dean taps his earpiece to hear better over the absolute din and chaos. He's definitely got the message because a feral grin spreads over his face.

"Got it. Let's ruin someone's payday."

Castiel grips Sam's forearm tightly in preparation, blocking his face from the cameras in front of him.

Dean shouts to draw attention and starts flipping everyone off and making ridiculous faces. He keeps his hands as close to Sam's head as possible to ensure that no one gets a clear picture that they can use.

A round of boos goes up from the crowd, but they begin to loosen enough for Castiel to drag Sam further with more alacrity. 

The three of them tumble into the limo finally, all feeling like they've just run a marathon.

Dean slouches back in his seat, rips off his glasses, and groans. "Fuck, we need to vet these hotels better. I hate conventions."

"I love them," Sam says honestly. "It's worth the mess."

Castiel removes his sunglasses and levels Dean with a pointed look. "Dean, we're going to talk about your improvisation later. It only makes the circus worse. You need to keep yourself under control."

"Bite me," Dean murmurs exhaustedly, closing his eyes. "Got the job done, didn't it?"

Castiel opens his mouth to retort, but Sam's plaintive, "guys, please," stops him. "Come on, you've been at each other's throats long enough. I wish you'd get along better."

"We _get along_ fine," Castiel insists. "But it'd be better if he followed our established protocols better to ensure a timely and safe response."

" _He_ is right here, got the damn job done, no one hurt, paparazzi days ruined, and totally on schedule. You can unclench, Cas."

" _Dean_ ," Sam says. He looks utterly pained. "You both are awesome, okay? Cas, you're my best friend in the world. You've been with me from the beginning, and you've kept me safe in like, every conceivable situation. Dean. You're my brother, and you've kept me motivated and calm since I was a kid. You guys are the best. But you've got a really confrontational relationship. Some harmony wouldn't go wrong. Maybe you _should_ spend some time talking. Figure out a compromise."

"I apologize," Castiel says, chagrined. "Though I can rarely confidently speak for Dean, I'm sure I can now saying that neither of us wishes to cause you undue stress or anxiety."

"Word," Dean agrees gruffly.

Sam beams like the overgrown puppy that he is. "Great! Awesome. Thanks, guys. I mean it. So, how much time we got before my panel tomorrow?"

"Your panel's at four," Castiel answers immediately. "There's plenty of time to rest."

***

Dean holds his hands out, palms forward like he's placating. "Cas, man, it's all your fucking fault, you know."

With a hard frown, Castiel grabs Dean's wrists, snapping the handcuffs in place with practiced ease; first the right hand, then spinning him around to secure it to his left behind his back. "The punishment should fit the crime."

A breathy whine threatens to pass Dean's lips, but he swallows it back. "The paps deserved it. You can't expect me to be nice when they're trying to suffocate the world's biggest star. Just 'cause you're a robot, doesn't mean I am."

Castiel yanks hard, on the cuffs, jerking Dean to him so they're pressed back to front. Through the large mirror over the dresser, their eyes meet. His expression is hard, jaw muscle twitching. He tilts his head, ice in his eyes. "That mouthiness doesn't suit you. You're being a brat, Dean. And you already agreed to the rules before the press debacle today. What would happen if you broke protocol. Do you still want to? Color?"

"Green."

"Good. Get. On. Your. Knees."

Dean's knees fold under him and he hits the mattress. 

"Get in position."

He scrambles until he's facing the headboard. He beds over, resting his cheek against the pile of pillows, elevating him and steadying him so that he doesn't topple over without the use of his hands. He spreads his legs, arches his back, putting his ass on display.

"Lovely," Castiel says. "Keep count. Don't falter."

The first blow falls against Dean's ass with a sharp crack through the room, open-palmed and stinging. "One!" Dean gasps.

"Louder," Castiel commands.

There's a pause and another hit. "Two!" Dean says evenly. He can take this. It'll take a lot more to have him break.

The next spanks fall rapidly, increasing in strength, leaving behind a burn that Dean barely has time to process before it's replaced by the sting again. Dean counts them all right away, loudly. Castiel is a true professional in life and the bedroom. He has no tells during punishment. Even when Dean can see him. Fuck, it's hot.

Castiel stops the punishment for a moment to grab the meat of Dean's ass, kneading roughly, spreading the burning out. The harsh handling shoves Dean onto his stomach and he can't stop the moan when his dick finally gets some friction on the bed's comforter. Castiel won't mind unless Dean comes by himself. Which he won't. He never does. Probably can't anymore.

"Legs together," Castiel commands. His voice is becoming more hoarse which means that Dean's about to get the rest of what he needs soon. Dean walks his knees together.

Castiel's lubed dick slides between his thighs, shoving against his balls and the underside of his cock almost painfully. _Perfectly_ painfully. Damn it's the best thing in the world. When Castiel starts to thrust, Dean loses his balance again, messing up the pressure.

"Gotta hold me tighter," Dean gasps. "Please. _Please_."

It's the go-ahead he's been looking for. Castiel grabs a handful of Dean's hair at the crown of his head, yanking up hard. Dean's head snaps back and he moans deeply, held fast, the fire in his scalp almost making him come right then.

But Castiel has them back in position again in seconds, rutting together, grunting with the effort and exertion of the fast pace.

Dean comes before he's expecting to, shouting at the ceiling. A moment later, sticky warmth spreads against his thighs. He breathes out with pleasure and relief.

Slowly, Castiel releases his grip, letting Dean go boneless against the wet spot on the comforter. Whoops. They should have put a towel down. Luckily Castiel is a weirdo and brings fabric cleaner in his suitcase since they always seem to make messes whatever city they're in.

The handcuffs come off shortly thereafter. Dean drags his heavy arms up, massaging his wrists. Castiel's weight joins him, half on top of him, breathing hot in his ear. "Have you thought about telling Sam?" he asks lightly.

"I still don't want to," Dean answers, edging towards a whine again.

Castiel chuckles. Anyone else saying such a thing about hiding a relationship would be offensive, but they both agreed the first time they'd fallen into bed together that they liked keeping Sam in the dark. It adds a certain level of mystery they both find arousing. "Do you think he already knows and is acting for us, too?"

"No," Dean grins, turning his face to kiss Castiel's plush lips for a minute. "I'd be able to tell. His worry is pretty fucking genuine."

"I feel a little bad about it," Castiel smiles back, eyes shining like he's not _too_ sorry. "He probably loses sleep worrying that one of us will storm out and quit on account of the other one day."

Dean brushes a short curl of sweaty hair off of Castiel's forehead. "Not gonna happen. I'm his brother, and you're the cyborg programmed to protect him at all costs forever. He knows that." Once again, Castiel is showing no tells, but something nudges at Dean anyway. His brow furrows unconsciously and he doesn't notice until Castiel smooths the frown line between his eyebrows with his thumb. "Do you wanna be open with Sam?"

"Yes," Castiel admits. "Besides you, he's the other half of my family. I'd be happy if he knew."

Dean shrugs and rolls to his back. He grabs his cell phone and dials. "Hey, Sammy. Just so you know, Cas and I fell in love a year ago and have been fucking ever since, so you can get over your abandonment issues. 'Night!" He hangs before he can hear Sam's reaction. "Done," he announces, slapping the phone back on the night stand and rolling towards Castiel again. "What?" he demands at the strange expression on the man's face.

A slow grin spreads over his face. "Of course that's the way you'd say you loved me for the first time."

"I... huh. Yeah, well, night for revelations, I guess."

Castiel kisses him a dozen more times, murmuring his love in between.


	10. Nipple Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is laser focused on one particular part of Dean’s pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** nipple play, coming untouched, PWP, first time Castiel, canon characters

Dean has had a standing belief since around high school, that first timers are never good. They're just not. There are too many nerves, too much fumbling, too much _awareness_. Trying to impress someone too much never works. But right now... _fuck_ right now, he's never been so wrong for so many years because Castiel and his lack of experience mean absolute _jack_. Every last thing he's done so far has done nothing short of driving Dean wild. In fact, the hunter's pretty damn sure he could actually come without either of them touching his dick at this point. That'd be so hot.

He'd like to say something about it, but currently all he's capable of doing is threading his fingers through the angel's hair and gasping, "Cas, what the fuck r'ya- _shit_!" His back arches off the bed and Castiel takes pity from his mouth's incredibly thorough exploration of Dean's collarbone and neck.

"Kissing you," he answers simply.

Dean's chest is heaving; his whole body sparking with a muddled fulfilled/unfulfilled miasma of sensation. "Yeah, I know," he murmurs, "but I thought you didn't know anything about foreplay."

"I don't," Castiel says between presses of his hot lips over the shape of Dean's pecs to his left nipple that is rock hard like it's just waiting for a good pair of teeth. "I'm just doing what I want since you gave me permission now. I've been waiting so long. I don't want to fail to experience a single thing." His breath on the hard peak makes Dean shudder.

"Ain't telling you to stop," Dean answers, fingers spasming in Castiel's hair. "Pleasedon'tstop," he moans just in case.

Castiel's tongue flicks out to taste the dark flesh of Dean's nipple. For a minute, Dean thinks he's come, but he hasn't. Not yet. Thank fuck because he needs so much more of this. Which he gets. Castiel closes his mouth over the whole nipple, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue in a circle around the sensitive peak. About a dozen swear words in more than one language spill from Dean's lips.

He juts his hips up, but there's barely any friction. Castiel has kept himself propped up effortlessly on his hands and knees and not used anything but his mouth. It's incredible. 

"I want to make you feel good," Castiel says after another torturous minute.

Dean's hands stroke down Castiel's strong shoulders and biceps. "Not a problem. Obvious- _hng_!" Dean chokes on his own words when Castiel's mouth abruptly releases the left nipple in favor of the right, and instead of the teasing licks and nips, he's all teeth; biting down on the bud and then laving over it hard with the flat of his tongue. At this point, Dean's so utterly fucking gone on the mingled pain and pleasure that he's forgotten how to speak English and is muttering in probably a made up language.

There are times when Dean's seen fit to poke fun at Castiel's laser focus on his tasks. His unbending devotion to a singular idea in his head. But right now? When Castiel's singular goal is making Dean feel good? Dean takes it all back. All of it. Every joke, snide remark, laugh at the angel's expense, because this is fucking _torture_ and he loves it.

Castiel spares no expense. His warm lips close over the areola, tongue and teeth working over the nipple on his right side while his fingers and nails pinch and scrape at the left side. Lightning bolts of pleasure rocket through Dean so fast and hard that he can't do anything but hold on for dear life.

He's not even sure what his body's doing anymore. Vaguely he can feel himself writhing against the sheets, and his hands are aching from cramping holding onto Castiel so tightly. His heat rushes frantically in his ears so he can barely hear the noises he's making him, but his mouth is so dry that he knows he is.

Castiel makes a pleased hum against his skin and Dean gasps. "Cas... man, I... oh, god, I can't... I'm gonna..." 

He doesn't know what he's gonna. He's so hot. Pinned down but floating high above himself. Aching and needy but so satisfied he almost can't stand it.

Castiel switches again, mouth and hands trading places, and Dean feels every pulse and shock straight down his spine to his dick. Wordlessly his neck arches up and he's _there_. "Cas!" he yells.

Castiel's lips are on his, swallowing the sounds of Dean's orgasm as he comes between them, completely untouched for the first time ever.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," he murmurs over and over again, voice hoarse, body trembling.

He feels the pull of Castiel's smile against his neck. "Thank you," the angel whispers.

Dean laughs helplessly, trying to relax as Castiel's hands trail over him, soothing and overstimulating. "I didn't even do anything."

"Yes, you did," he disagrees with a warm undertone. Affectionate. "You did so much. Let me have it. Thank you."

Dean pulls Castiel back down into a searing kiss. "Anytime," he says breathlessly with a grin. "I'm all yours."

"I feel exactly the same."


	11. Critical Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is a hospital pediatrician. Castiel Novak, infectious disease doctor, is Dean's best friend, frequent lover, and a regular dickhead to patients who sabotage their own treatment, or the treatment of others. It's the best relationship either of them have ever had, not just because their sex life is excellent, but because their symbiosis is perfect. Dean gets to treat his patients who don't have their own voices in their treatment usually, and Castiel gets to vent his anger about anti-vaxxers to their faces and help keep people out of his infectious disease ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** medical kink, doctor!Castiel, doctor!Dean, fingering, hospital AU, sick child, vaccinate your fucking kids

"Dr. Novak? Cas? Are you - oh, holy shit, thank God you're here." Dean Winchester, MD, pokes his head into the doctor's lounge, spotting Castiel immediately in spot by the coffeemaker, mug halfway to his lips, blue eyes wide in question. He's not the most "together" at the beginning of his shift. A zombie for an hour or so. "Need your help, man. Sorry to disturb your... uh..." he gestures vaguely up and down Castiel's form. "Wakeup ritual."

"Of course," Castiel says, voice rough and monotone. "Do you need a consult?"

Dean steps fully into the room, sagging his shoulders. "No, man, I need a distraction."

An eyebrow arches over his mug. "Oh? This early in the day?"

It takes a full three seconds for Castiel's deadpan dirty humor to sink in and then Dean's laughing and it's a better wake up call than the coffee. "Dude, no dirty talk. It's ass o'clock right now. I got parents who won't let me treat their kid."

Castiel sighs and feels nothing but total sympathy for the pediatrician. No parent _really_ likes to hear that Dean's services are needed. Critically ill children are heartbreaking, but there's a reason Dean is the best in the state (best in the country, in Castiel's humble opinion) at his job. He's got a way of not talking down to kids that puts them at ease, empowers them, and gets them back on their damn feet. The parents are a whole other story. They get hopped up on righteous self-flagellation, and then their brains dissolve to stubborn denial of how sick their kids are. Because it's never fair for a kid to need more than antibiotics to get well.

"You need Bad Cop?" Castiel asks mildly. 

Dean nods enthusiastically and hands over the chart. "Please, man. I'm begging ya."

Castiel Novak, MD, is Dean's best friend, frequent lover, and a regular dickhead to patients who sabotage their own treatment, or the treatment of others. It's the best relationship either of them have either had, not just because their sex life is excellent, but because their symbiosis is perfect. Dean gets to treat his patients who don't have their own voices in their treatment usually, and Castiel gets to vent his anger about anti-vaxxers to their faces and help keep people out of his infectious disease ward. Plus, Castiel sometimes says in a fit of exhaustion that makes him far more affectionate, that Dean is never sexier than when he's helping a child.

Currently, he's abandoned his coffee in order to grind his teeth at the contents. " _Diptheria_?!" he shouts suddenly. "Are you _kidding_ me?! That can be _fatal_! It _is_ fatal ten percent of the time! Why was this child not vaccinated?!" His fierce glare meets Dean's hangdog look, and before Dr. Winchester can answer, Castiel is already finishing the thought. "Anti-vaxxers, of-fucking- _course_! Bringing back all of these eradicated diseases because a _Hollywood celebrity_ convinced them!"

Dean shakes his head with a wry smile. "I know, right?"

Castiel hates it when he sounds so defeated. "It's always like this now. Dean, I'm so sorry. Is the child properly quarantined?"

"Yeah, he's being transferred down to your floor," Dean confirms. "But I really need you to help me out. Quickly. The kid's already got some mild polyneuropathy and..." he steps to Castiel's side, flipping through the chart and pointing at the test results. "Check it out. The EKG's not looking so hot."

Castiel's throat tightens. "Myocarditis?" He glances up again, this time with sorrow. "He's six years old."

"Please, Cas," Dean pleads. "The kid's gonna die and his parents are insisting that any chemicals we put in his body will do more harm than good."

Castiel snaps the file closed, claps Dean on the shoulder, and takes wide strides towards the door and into the ward. Dean nearly has to jog to keep up. "I'll fix this," he growls.

Dean can't even express his gratitude. "Do we even have an antitoxin here? How long will it take to get some, d'you think?"

"We have it," Castiel says as he jabs the elevator button. "Remember last year when I partnered with the CDC to further study vaccine diseases since we've had some outbreaks all over the country?"

"Yeah." Dean punches the button for the Pediatric ICU. 

"Well, several of the treatment studies were done here. And because of the special training the staff has had, we're one of the few hospitals keeping small stocks of medications for situations such as these. If we can get the parents to sign the treatment forms, I can have the antitoxin to you in minutes."

The doors open and they both power walk out. "Thanks for being such a nerd for communicable diseases," he breathes in relief. He points down the hall as they round the nurse's station to a man and woman standing outside a private room, covered with masks and gowns and looking as though their child is already beyond their reach. "That's them." He needs to say nothing more.

Castiel is already away from him, breaking off and on those parents in five seconds flat. His voice can be heard across the whole floor. "How dare you!" he shouts. "How dare you both put your precious son in such danger! My name is Dr. Castiel Novak, I'm an infectious disease doctor, and I clearly need to educate you on not killing people with preventable diseases!"

Dean stalls at the nurse's station because he isn't needed. Yet. Meg leans over the counter, watching. "Love watching that tree topper work," she sighs happily.

"Right?" Dean smiles. "The avenging Angel of Thursday strikes again."

She props her chin on her hand, facing towards Dean. "Does he take all that rage to bed?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I really, _really_ would."

"Too bad."

She scoffs. "Killjoy."

Their attention is arrested by the drama unfolding down the hall again. The mother tries to say something, but is cut off by a furious, "no, you've made your dangerous ignorance perfectly clear; it's my turn to talk."

Meg moans just shyly of sexually right in Dean's ear, and he leans away a little, refusing to be baited. She's only just barely forgiven him for taking her chance at Castiel away, and he's not about to open his big mouth to tell her that they haven't said anything about exclusivity just yet. Which is probably Castiel's boundless, and irritating, considerate nature. He's never known Dean to be anything besides a weekend player. Which... okay, there's no real evidence to the contrary. But Dean's scared to ask not to be that for Castiel, because it'll fuck it up. He's like, 98% sure the only reason he gets to sleep with Dr. Novak at all is because his colleague thinks Dean's not involving his feelings in the arrangement.

"Seriously," she says wistfully, "it's like he saves it up for these exact occasions. He's so _mild_ all the time. It's not natural."

"I think he does," Dean agrees. The rest of the staff around the nurse's station have blatantly stopped working in order to watch Hurricane Novak blowing away the opposition. He's doing pretty good, too, because the parents are giving him all the ammo he needs for a real educational tirade the more indignant they grow trying to defend themselves. This is the part Dean can't do. Probably because he's been the victim of bad parenting, he can't willfully force anyone to face it. Castiel knows that, though. And he loves his own parents, so it's easy for him to stand nose-to-nose with the father and grit, "your son is _dying_ , and it's on _you_. Your bad decisions brought him here. Now, you're going to let my colleague, Dr. Winchester, save his life, and be grateful he's too good of a man to do more than the required reporting to Protective Services."

The mother yanks the clipboard with the treatment forms out of her husband's hands and signs them, shoving them back at Castiel.

He nods curtly, and without another word, stomps to the nurse's station, fire in his eyes. Meg takes the clipboard with a bemused smile. "Way to go, Clarence."

The blaze focuses its full force on Dean, and he can't even describe how it makes him feel. How it _always_ makes him feel. Scorched. Castiel says, "save that child, please." The words sound like they're physically painful to get out.

"I will," Dean replies hoarsely.

A muscle ticks in Castiel's jaw. He pats Dean on the shoulder just shy of painfully, then he's gone. He's never been able to stay in the pediatrics ward for very long once the storm has blown itself out. Dean gets that. It's part of the reason why he's here. A lot of other people can't do this kind of job, but Dean? It's like a need. And he's damn good at filling it.

xxXXxx

It's the end of Dean's shift, and he feels like he's done a little bit of good. It's still too early to tell what will happen to the kid, but he's responding well to treatment. That's enough for Dr. Winchester to waver on his anger. When he reports the case to CPS, he specifically requests the case go to his brother Sam, because Sam still has empathy, and despite their childhood, believes that some families can be fixed. Dean doesn't believe that for a second, but he recognizes it's mostly just his stubbornness, when he sees the way his brother talks to the parents in such a way that the guilt could very well stick and morph into corrective action.

Dean hopes. He's never lost that feeling. It's annoying, but it keeps him from being too jaded to keep his job.

He doesn't even know where he's going as he plods through the halls towards the clinic where he vaguely recalls that Castiel might be having office hours. His eyes are too bleary to make out anything, but problem solved when a stethoscope whips around his neck and he nearly chokes as he's dragged into a room by the back of his neck.

Hot lips are on him, and Dean's eyes slip shut in ecstasy. He hasn't seen Castiel to be a hundred percent sure that it's him, but it's gotta be. No one manhandles him in such a way or makes such filthy noises when Dean humps up against his leg. "Need you so fucking much," he moans against Castiel's throat. "I'm so goddamn tired and I hate everything."

"I figured after this morning," Castiel rumbles affectionately. "That's why I'm playing hooky right now."

"Breaking a rule just for me?" Dean's head lolls back, eyes still closed, almost dozing on the pleasure as Castiel walks him backwards. He hopes the blinds are shut to the room. Expecting they are. Castiel is jealous. He won't let anyone see Dean debauched. "God, that's hot." He stumbles when his ass hits what he assumes is the exam table, Castiel urging him up onto the crackling cover paper. He feels Castiel's hands on his belt and starts to nearly-giggle. "We haven't messed around here like this since we were residents."

Castiel chuckles shortly, breathlessly. "It wasn't that long ago, don't pretend to be old."

It was six years ago. _Jesus_ , they've been messing around for six years? He's about to feel bad about that, but then he's bared to the cold air, pants hitting the floor, Castiel hoisting his legs up, and... putting them in the stirrups? What's going on? He opens his eyes, and Castiel is regarding him with a horny/hungry expression. Licks his bottom lip. Well, then. "This one of your random kinks?" Dean grins.

"Indulge me?"

Dean wiggles his hips down further so that he can splay his knees open wider. "You know I will."

Castiel loosens his tie with a hard yank, and unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt. "You have no idea how you look to me right now. You've always been sexy to me, but... with you like this it's almost... clinical. Hard and soft." He swallows hard. "It makes me hard. And slightly confused."

Dean chuckles, slowly slipping off his lab coat and slowly lifting his scrubs shirt over his head, using them both as a pillow. "Come on, doc. I'm ready for my exam."

A shudder rolls through Castiel. "I had the stray thought to do this to you several times over the years, but it's so much better in reality."

"Happy to oblige," Dean drawls, leaving the stethoscope around his neck, deciding to give Castiel a show, running his hands down his chest to his half hard dick, hissing slightly as he lightly takes himself in hand, stroking gently until he's completely hard. Feels good being watched by those intense blue eyes.

Castiel steps over to the sink and carefully washes his hands with the antibacterial soap. Dean's eyes slide over to watch him. He loves those long fingers. With a neutral expression, Castiel opens each drawer in turn until he finds what he's looking for. Medical grade lube in single-serving foil packs. "This will do," he murmurs. Then he moves in front of Dean, gaze sweeping over the man with a look like he's trying to diagnose something. It's incredibly sexy.

Dean moans and thrusts his hips up, using the stirrups for leverage.

Castiel lets out a heavy breath and grabs for the exam lamp, scooting it over and turning it on, washing Dean's lower body with bright, florescent light. It's warm on his bare legs. Castiel rolls the sleeves of his lab coat up and sits down on the stool in front of the exam table. "So," he says in a breezy professional tone, "what can I do for you today?"

Dean bites back a laugh/moan at the doctor voice. "Think I need a prostate exam."

Castiel chuckles darkly and says, "I think I can handle that." He makes a show of snapping on a sterile latex glove and holds his hand up, dripping the lube over two fingers. "Lay back and try to relax as much as possible."

Dean breathes out, " _finally_ ," and grips himself tighter, incrementally increasing his pace as those long, professional fingers circle his hole, then presses in up to the first knuckle, stretching. He rubs around carefully before pushing in further when the strong muscles begin to flutter and relax. "Fuck, that's amazing," he breathes.

"Healthy reaction so far," Castiel muses. His finger barely twitches when it finds its mark and Dean nearly comes off the table with a cry of pleasure.

" _Yes_ , there! Right the fuck there!" He groans. He tries his best not to jack himself off too quickly, but it's so hard with Castiel's fingers pulsing and brushing, pressing and stroking against his prostate.

"Feels amazing," he says so breathlessly that Dean's eyes flick down from the tiled ceiling to see that Castiel has opened his fly and is pumping his own dick frantically.

With that, Dean doesn't bother to hold himself back. He chases the heat building in his core in time with the increasing of Castiel's breathing. So good. So, _so_ fucking good. "Gonna come," he gasps a split second before he does, clenching on Castiel's finger hard and spilling ropes of come onto his chest.

Castiel makes a strangled noise a moment later, forehead coming down onto Dean's inner thigh where he presses a series of kisses to the tender flesh.

"That was awesome," Dean murmurs lazily after a minute, reaching over to grab the tissues off of the counter to wipe himself up. "We should do that more often."

Laughing, Castiel strips off the glove and disposes it into the biohazard trash. "We should do a lot of things more often." He tosses Dean's clothes to him. "I want to do so much more with you, Dean."

Dean pauses pulling back on his shirt. "What do you mean?"

Castiel shoves his hands into his coat pocket and stares down at the floor. "Things such as dates. Dating. Perhaps exclusivity. I'd like to be your boyfriend, Dean. It's been years and I find that I can't bear to let you go." He sounds so apologetic that Dean's can't understand it for a second.

"Cas," he says lowly, dropping his legs down and grabbing Castiel to drag him closer. "I'm cool with that. For real. Why would think I'd turn you down?"

Uncertain blue eyes rise to meet his. "Because you've made it clear you don't care for relationships. I've been respectful of that, however, I'm in love with you now, and it wouldn't be fair to you or me to pretend that it's casual."

"I'm gone on you," Dean answers immediately. "Cas, I'm fucking _gone_ on you. I fell for you a long time ago, but I'm a chickenshit, so I never said anything since we had these expectations. Or lack thereof."

Cautiously, Castiel smiles. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean grins encouragingly. "I'll be your boyfriend. Problem solved. Wanna take me home and make it official?"

"Ah, you mean intercourse?"

"I do indeed," he snorts.

Castiel kisses him. "Yes, please."


	12. Lesson Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is an experienced Dom who falls for Castiel, who has no experience with BDSM. But he's willing to try. Willing to submit. If only he could hold still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** anal hooks, vibrators, D/s relationship, Dom!Dean, Sub!Castiel, human AU, immobilization play, coming untouched, PWP

In most ways, Dean would say that Castiel is practically perfect in every way as a lover. They'd started a year ago as vanilla as it could get. Normal sex with nothing spicy mixed in. Dean had been completely fine with it, couldn't resist Castiel even knowing it could turn complicated, but had also been honest and told his new lover about his proclivities for kink. D/s relationships and bondage in particular. Castiel had initially balked at even the consideration of becoming a sub, but easily understood Dean's need for it. It didn't disgust him or turn him away. He'd encouraged Dean to find willing subs at clubs and meetups. Before they had become exclusive, testing the waters of an open relationship, Dean had found plenty of fulfilment with other subs.

But then... _then_. He and Castiel had clicked. They'd gone on dozens of dates, started ending their times together with a healthy dose of making out. Slowly morphed towards sex that became more than sex. _Love-making_. Sort of uncharted waters for Dean, truth be told. He'd felt soul-deep contentment in Castiel's heart and body. 

Backed off on having sex with his subs. Fine with tying them up, earning their compliance, administering exquisite pain, beautiful submission. But as he'd continued with other people and with Castiel, he couldn't find relief with anyone - even his favorite subs. He'd picture blue eyes shining with afterglow. Flushed tanned skin sheened with sweat. Dark eyebrows knitted up with pleasure. 

If it couldn't be Castiel, it couldn't be anyone.

And Castiel had realized this. Then he'd said _yes_. He'd said he'd be willing to try. 

That's more than Dean could have ever wished for. He'd told Castiel he loved him. He'd said it with tears of gratitude in his eyes, and he'd meant it.

Castiel had beamed and said their happiness was combined now. He didn't promise he could do everything Dean wanted, but he could try. He would try.

The first time that Castiel had his wrists bound, on his knees moaning, " _please_ , sir," he'd come so hard he'd blacked out for a few seconds.

It had been a auspicious start. When Dean asked if he'd like to try more - real submission in scenes, Castiel had agreed almost before Dean had finished his question.

He's taken them forward in increments, always with open communication, and always with a thorough discussion of the scene and the toys beforehand. It's more than he's used to, but Castiel is more at ease the more information he has, and Dean has discovered that the more Castiel knows, the more anticipation he has for the scene, and the more he falls into it. The more he gives himself over to it.

But now he's comfortable. And he still hasn't fully settled. He loves to submit, but he can't always settle. Dean had been reticent to dole out any hard punishments thus far, but it's been a long time, and commanding his sub not to talk back or fidget or come, didn't work the previous night during a particularly energetic, yet short, scene that Dean will look back on fondly forever. It hadn't been incredibly physically taxing thanks to its short duration, so punishment twenty-four hours later is acceptable to both of them.

However, tonight, Castiel can already sense the shift in the air. He's agreed to the punishment; had seemed even excited to experience it, but he can't sit still. Dean has ordered him to his hands and knees on the bed, and Castiel is in position willingly, but not still. Never is when he's naked and vulnerable. He shifts his weight from leg to leg, moving the plug in his hole around, glances over his shoulder even when told not to. Not completely obedient. Which is fine. He'll learn. Dean's ready to teach him.

"Why are you being punished, boy?" Dean demands, standing tall over Castiel, arms crossed over his chest, holding the punishment tool casually.

He can hear the way that Castiel's voice shakes thanks to his rapid heartbeat. "I wasn't silent last night, sir. I wasn't still. I came too early."

"Correct," Dean drawls, stepping towards Castiel and lowering himself to his knees. He puts the hook down on the towels they've laid out on the comforter, right within Castiel's field of vision. Conversationally, he continues, "it occurs to me I've been too lenient on you. Too indulgent with your restlessness. You like to be immobilized, but you also like to fight it. Because I _let_ you."

Barely touching him, Dean leans over Castiel's back, allowing on the folds of his cotton shirt and the tails of his flannel to brush Castiel's sensitive skin. Castiel makes a small noise, but doesn't move. Dean bites back his grin. Perfect. He reached out and places his palm against the cold metal hook. Castiel's eyes follow his movement as he strokes up the curved shaft of the hook to the ball at the top of the curve. The loop at the end of the hook is already tied with nylon rope, slung up to one of the ceiling hooks. 

"Don't get me wrong. I don't mind the fight in my boys. Obedience doesn't have to mean being a doormat. But, I don't like brats." Castiel has been so intent on staring at the metal hook that he hadn't noticed Dean prepping, until a well-lubed hand takes the hook and rubs firmly from the ball to the shaft. "When I give orders, I expect them to be followed. Do you understand?" He presses his thumb against the base of the plug.

Castiel gasps, " _yes_! Yes, sir!"

"You have to hold still," Dean reiterates. "Tell me how it feels. Any sharp pain, let me know."

"Yes, sir," Castiel says with slightly more volume this time.

Smiling, Dean slips two fingers under the base of the plug, tugging it slightly, twisting it. Castiel holds still as much as he can, back muscles trembling, mesmerizing. God, but Dean loves him so much. He's trying so hard. Doing so well. Carefully, drawing it out, Dean removes the plug. "You can make all the noise you want," he assures him.

Castiel moans long and low, relaxing his internal muscles as Dean takes the plug out, whimpering when it's gone. He's so loose and open, hole fluttering, begging for more. Dean would love nothing more than to fuck that sweet ass until they're both screaming, but that's not what this is about tonight.

"You ready?"

Almost choking on his desire, Castiel says, "please, sir."

Dean cups the metal hook in his hand, making sure it's lubed up properly. He lines the ball up with Castiel's hole. "Don't clamp down on it. You can push against it, but don't squeeze. It's gonna be a tight fit."

"Yes, sir," Castiel breathes, pushing the air out of his lungs as Dean rolls the ball around carefully from side to side against Castiel's rim, loosening him more and not forcing its entry. After a minute, it slides in, Castiel's internal muscles practically sucking it deeper. "Oh, my _god_ ," he says shakily. 

"How's that feel?"

"I need to lie down," Castiel moans.

Chuckling, Dean says, "of course you can. I'm going to bind your hands behind you, anyway. With me, now. Slow and easy." Castiel lowers his body down to the mattress, Dean making sure the hook stays even. Once fully down, Dean deliberately turns the hook until the eye is facing up, the curved end pointing towards the ceiling. "Comfy?"

"I... no," Castiel says. "It feels so... full. Intense. It doesn't hurt, but it's... it's strange."

Grinning, Dean presses the ball slightly deeper. Castiel cries out. "Hit that sweet spot," he murmurs.

Castiel's entire body shudders as he attempts to not rut against the towel.

"Hands behind your back," he commands.

Castiel complies immediately, crossing his wrists behind him. 

"Standard cuffs this time since I think I've spoiled you with the padded and leather ones." He unclips the metal handcuffs, sets the key on the nightstand, and then fastens Castiel's wrists tightly. Castiel starts to wiggle.

Dean's grin turns wolfish. "This is why you're being punished, you know." He takes the rope around the eye and slings it into the loop and pulley, wrapping the nylon around his wrist for a firm grip. He gives it a tug, the hook rises, and Castiel's ass cants off the bed. He cries out and curses. "Dean!"

"Too much?" he asks with only the barest hint of concern peeking through.

"I-I don't know! It's too much! Not enough! I don't-I can't!"

"Settle!" Dean barks.

Castiel freezes, a small whine in his throat.

Dean gives him a moment, studying the lines of his back. The tight angles of his muscles. The thin sheen of sweat glistening over his body. He's exquisit. "Settle," he says more gently, wiping his slippery hand off on the towel and reaching to stroke down Castiel's spine. Gradually, his lover complies under Dean's ministrations, though Dean doesn't let up his grip on the rope, effectively immobilizing Castiel completely. "You're doing so good, Cas. So perfect for me. You're learning so well. If you're my good boy and keep still for as long as I need you to, I'll let you come. I'll reward you after the lesson."

"I can do it, sir," Castiel assures him in a strangled voice. "I can be good for you. I want to. I _need_ to. It feels so _good_ when I am."

Throat closing with emotion, Dean roughly says, "never thought I'd have all this from you, Cas." As he talks, he minutely pulls the rope, raising the hook. "Didn't think I'd get to fucking luck. But you _did_ , and I _am_ , and you're the most amazing sub in the world. I couldn't have dreamed of anything better." Sensing Castiel on the edge of tolerance by the extra resistance on the taut rope, he stops pulling, Castiel now lifted off the bed by the metal rod, hips to knees in the air. "You know that, don't you?" Tenderly, he pets Castiel's back, kneading at the muscles.

"I love you!" Castiel gasps. His tears soak the towel under him. "I love you so much."

"Good boy," Dean breathes. "Now, no more talking. I want you to close your eyes, focus on your breathing, and not move at all until I tell you. Can you do that for me, angel?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel whispers. And does as he's instructed.

Dean lets several minutes tick by before speaking again. "How does this make you feel?"

Castiel tries to speak, can't. Clears his throat. He sounds almost drunk when he speaks. "Vulnerable. Full. Fantastic."

"Learned your lesson?"

"I'll defer to you, sir."

"Damn right, you will. You wanna come?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel grits desperately.

"Do it untouched and I'll consider it lesson learned." He pulls out a small egg vibrator from his pocket and turns it on. Then he presses it against the base of the hook.

Castiel jolts at the sudden sensation of vibration all along the metal. He pants hard, sawing in gulping breaths of air. 

"Come for me, boy," Dean says, steel in his voice. "Now." He loosens the rope the second that Castiel's body tenses. He shouts, body spasming as he comes hard. Dean keeps up the vibrator on the the rod until Castiel is writhing and sobbing nonsensical words at the overstimulation. Dean takes pity soon, though. It's his first real lesson. They can take it slow. They have all the time in the world.

And Castiel is positively boneless as Dean removes the restraints and the hook, cleaning his boy carefully with wet wipes. Massaging his fingers and hands to return proper blood flow. All the while murmuring words of praise. "That's the end of the scene," Dean says as soon as the towels are tossed aside, and the toys in the bathroom to be cleaned.

Castiel lays spread eagle on the bed, eyes unseeing on the ceiling. "That was incredible," he says. Dean's laugh draws his attention and he refocuses back on Earth.

Dean stand beside the bed, drying off his hands. "Need something?"

"Your body heat would be nice," Castiel smiles.

"Done and done," Dean says. He strips off his clothes and comes down to the mattress. Immediately, Castiel rolls to him, drapes over him. Clings like an octopus. Dean doesn't mine. He likes to run his fingers through Castiel's dark hair, anyway.

"I'm glad I found you," Castiel says, sounding tired but sated. "I'm glad you were brave enough to teach me about this lifestyle. I'm glad I was brave enough to try."

"Fuck, I love you, Cas," is the only thing Dean can answer with.

Castiel presses a kiss against his shoulder. "I love you, too."


	13. Creative Problem Solving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabriel need a sperm donor for their surrogate and ask Dean, since neither of them are viable. The only problem is... Dean can't get off by himself anymore in order to donate. Castiel comes up with a solution to his "problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** voyeurism, voyeur!Castiel, sperm donation, masturbation, established relationship, dirty talk, switch!Dean, switch!Castiel

"Sammy needs a sperm donor," Dean says in a rush.

Castiel arches an eyebrow. "Come again?"

Dean snorts, "you said 'come.'"

With his typical eyeroll, Castiel says, "wow, I'm impressed at how mature you are at the tender age of thirty-five. Why are you telling me about Sam needing a sperm donor?" A bright twinkle sparks in his blue eyes. "Please say Gabriel's trying to convince him he can get pregnant."

The snorting giggle turns into a full bodied laugh. "That would be hilarious, but no. They're getting a surrogate. Y'know, for kids."

"Huh." This is one of those times Castiel isn't sure if Dean is lying or not. He's got that sassy smirk on his face that half the time is to test Castiel's trusting nature. "Dean, I realize that you love to call me gullible, however, even I have trouble believing that two grown _men_ with functioning penises need a sperm donor."

Dean shrugs and gives his boyfriend a finger gun and a wink. "Normally, this is _exactly_ the thing I'd joke about to call my little brother a giant girl, but in this case, they're just being weirdos."

Castiel slips his shoes off and sits down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in an invitation for Dean to flip channels to whatever station he prefers. Which he does presently. "You seem to be leaving out a large portion of the story."

"Yeah, sorry," Dean says. "Okay, so apparently they agreed that they wanted Sam's DNA for the kid. Gabriel was pretty set on that."

Castiel is mildly offended that his older brother doesn't see fit to think Novak DNA is worth sharing. But he remains quiet and neutral because he's interested in the whole sperm donor story.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. "Turns out, though... Sammy's sperm aren't viable."

"Oh," Castiel says, genuinely sorry. "But... why wouldn't Gabriel step up for their own child? He's so set on not being the one that they'll use a stranger instead?"

Dean actually tears his eyes away from the _Game of Thrones_ finale they'd recorded and _that_ gets Castiel's full attention. "Not exactly. I mean, Gabe doesn't want to pass on his genetic disorder, first off. And... they want either you or me to do it."

"Oh," Castiel says again with new inflection. "I see. That's... really?"

Dean grins profoundly embarrassed. "Right? I'm game to do it, unless you want to more than me?"

Castiel shrugs his tensed shoulders. "I don't have a preference. You spoke to Sam about this?"

Dean turns sideways, draping his arm over the back of the couch. "Yeah. He asked me specifically."

"And you want to do it?" he prompts. He gets the distinct impression that Dean's still not painting the whole picture. Or, that he's painting Sam's picture and not his own completely.

"I mean," Dean hedges with a shrug that's not a real answer. "What.. ah, what do you think?"

Castiel assesses Dean with a neutral expression. The man has a hell of a poker face when he wants to. Eventually, Castiel fills the silence with, "is your hesitancy because of us? Or, rather, me?"

"A little, yeah," Dean answers apologetically. 

"I'm fine with it in general," Castiel says after a pause. "It wouldn't be _our_ child. You wouldn't treat it that way just because it was your sperm, would you?"

"No," Dean says emphatically. "Cas, I meant it when I said I liked kids, but was fine with not having them. I'll treat this kid the same as I would if they'd had one without our help. Spoil the shit outta them and win the best uncle ever award."

He looks sincere enough that Castiel immediately relaxes. "Then you should do it. You'd be giving them a wonderful gift."

"Okay," Dean smiles. "I'll tell them. Thanks, Cas. Means a lot for me to be able to help my brother."

"I know," Castiel says, leaning to the side to kiss him.

***

It's all easier said than done, however. The preliminary tests go fine. Blood draws and urine samples to make sure that he's healthy enough to donate. Sam, Gabriel, and their surrogate, Charlie, meet him at the clinic for the counseling session. He likes Charlie immediately. She's smart, nerdy, and cheerful throughout the whole process, even joking about being the lesbian to take one for the team. She explains that though she doesn't want kids of her own, either, she's always been intensely curious about pregnancy and childbirth; overjoyed to be able to experience it. Sam and Gabriel can't seem to stop thanking Charlie or Dean until the elder Winchester, profoundly embarrassed about talking for two hours about his goddamn sperm to his brother, two strangers, and the only Novak he only sort of gets along with, says that he'll rescind his offer if they don't cut it the fuck out.

Still, he regails Castiel with an overly dramatic tale of the outing, bringing his husband to tears of laughter.

Then, a few weeks later when the test results come back clean, Dean is off again to the sperm bank, this time on his own.

Three hours later, he's back home perturbed.

"How did it go?" Castiel calls from the bedroom where he's going through his evening routine.

"It didn't," Dean says from the doorway.

Castiel turns, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, eyebrow arched in question.

Dean sighs. "I couldn't..." he flicks his cupped hand out vaguely. "Y'know... do it."

Castiel holds up a finger, disappears into the bathroom. He returns with a clean face. "Dean," he says. "I know it's been a while, but surely you haven't forgotten how to masturbate? Did they not have any lesbian porn like you prefer?"

Chuckling to hide his humiliation, Dean counters, "they had plenty of porn, but I just couldn't get off. I dunno, man, it was weird."

Genuinely concerned now, Castiel guides Dean over to the bed. They sit down on the edge, shoulder to shoulder, Castiel cradling Dean's hands comfortingly. "I'm sure it's slightly... clinical, but surely it wasn't _that_ bad?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nah, it wasn't that. Well, not totally. It was fucking weird knowing there were nurses and shit all right outside waiting for a cup of my jizz, but it was more like I couldn't do it by myself anymore."

A slow, teasing smile lighting his face like the sunrise, Castiel says, "oh, Dean. How _romantic_ of you." He scoots closer, pushing up against Dean so firmly that the man almost tips over.

"Shut up," Dean mutters.

"It _is_ , though," he lilts. "You can't achieve completion without me anymore. I'm _flattered_." He pauses. In his normal tone continues, "also slightly concerned that if either of us ever goes on a prolonged business trip or something, you'd get quite frustrated."

"Fuck you, Cas," Dean growls. "This is serious. What the hell am I gonna tell Sam and Gabriel about this? One, I'll never hear the end of it. B, I'll be letting them down."

"Of course you won't," Castiel snorts. "We can fix this."

"How? Dude, I can't just get off here and bring it to the sperm bank! They need a fresh sample, or whatever. And no contamination. You know. The only way for me to fix this is if I can get off without you around. But, I dunno. It ain't fun without you, and when I tried to think about how much this meant to Sam and Gabe; how much they want this, I got floppy from stress."

It's endearing how hard Castiel tries to keep a straight face. He mostly succeeds. "I'll go with you," he says once calm.

Dean blinks. "Dude, what?"

"I'll go with you," Castiel repeats. "If I'm only in the room with you, it won't contaminate anything. Maybe my presence will be enough. It's worth a try. We can always ask."

Dean's flushed all the way down to his roots, but he sucks it up because this shit is important. "Okay. Yeah, that... that sounds like a good idea. Let's do it."

***

No one seems to have a problem with Castiel entertaining Dean in the room when he tries again for a donation. The nurses stress that there should be no ejaculate besides Dean, and Castiel should refrain from touching Dean just to be extra safe since Castiel hadn't been formally tested for anything. They agree, and Castiel locks the door behind them.

He glances around the small room while Dean washes his hands at the sink. "Not very inspiring to set the mood, is it?" he says, noting the maroon walls, landscape painting, two chairs, small television, and side table stacked with porn magazines. He idly flips through the covers. "Ooh, bears. I like this one. Are we allowed to keep them?"

"No souvenirs, Cas," Dean admonishes, though he appreciates his husband's effort to keep the mood light. Dean's never been able to get it up or keep it up when too anxious.

Luckily, Castiel is an expert at keeping Dean calm and in the moment after all the years of practice he's had. "Have a seat," he says gently.

Dean does on the armchair, letting out a long breath. "I don't know if I can do this. It's even weirder with you here."

"Then close your eyes and imagine we're at home," Castiel suggests. "I'll talk you through it."

Dean leans back, head clunking against the wall, and closes his eyes. "Finding my happy place," he mutters.

Castiel smiles. "Remember when the doctor's said no sex the week before donation, and how wound up you got?"

"Yeah," Dean says, grinding his teeth. "Adding insult to injury there? Cute."

"That's not what I'm doing. The day before you came here the first time, you said you'd have a _very_ nice dream about me."

The first hint of a smile peeks out on Dean's lips. "Yeah, I did."

"Why don't you tell me all about it?"

"Hmm. It was awesome. I dreamed that we were at that ryokan we stayed at in Nikko over the summer."

"Oh? The first one by the lake, or the one near the firefly forest?"

"By the forest. We soaked in the hot spring and worse those yukata afterwards. But you couldn't figure out how to tie the damn thing properly even after we looked it up online, and it barely held together. Looking at you like that... I could barely keep my hands off of you." He opens his eyes, beaming at Castiel.

"Well, you _did_ because the walls there were so thin. Everyone would have heard us. I liked those yukata on you, too. When we went out to the festival, everyone stared at you even though there were probably fifty other foreigners wearing them that night." He huffs a soft laugh. "I felt blessed to be the one who got to take you home with me. They must have all been so jealous. I wanted to ride you for _days_ in that room."

"No one could hear us in my dream. It was dark outside and there were fireflies everywhere outside. You were laying on the futon, just like... _waiting_ for me."

"What did you do to me, Dean?" 

Dean makes a small hum, looking directly into Castiel's eyes and reaches down to palm himself through his jeans. It really turns him on to see his spouse sitting there across the room, casual as you please, ankle resting on his knee, elbows on the arms of the chair, hands pressed palms together and resting under his chin. "I rode you hard while you jacked me off," he says.

Castiel arches an eyebrow. "That sounds like a wonderful story. Tell me all about it." His eyes flick down for a second and he gives a small nod towards Dean's hand. "Show me how I worked you over."

Dean shivers a little. He unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down his thighs with his boxers. Already half hard, it takes very little effort on his part to get to full hardness just from Castiel's intent stare. He picks up the sterile lube from the table and squirts a bit into his palm, loosely starting at the head of his dick and massaging down to his balls. "Started off slow," he continues, already a little hoarse. "You never take your time work handjobs, but this time you did."

"That's because we reserve handjobs for when we have no time."

Dean takes himself more firmly but doesn't quicken his pace. "Well, we weren't in any hurry. You touched me like it was the best thing you'd ever felt."

"It often is."

Slowly he starts thrusting his hips up into his fist. "You worked me over while I opened myself up for you. Stretched and ready. Drove me wild. When I was ready you laid down on your back, just watching me. Let me sink down on your cock... held my hips and let me fuck you the way I wanted."

Castiel sits forward a little. "How did you want to?"

"Not slow," Dean grins, gasping as he picks up the pace on his own dick. "You held on for dear life and I rode you hard and fast. Wanted to feel it for days afterward. Wanted to make you _scream_." Castiel is quiet, and so is the room. The only sounds are Dean's ragged breathing and the obscenely wet noises of his hand on his cock. It should be embarrassing - all of this should make Dean supremely uncomfortable, but it doesn't. It's not. Castiel is watching him like it's his favorite movie, and there's nothing shy in his expression. Just heat. The heat that Dean's come to rely on.

Dean bites his bottom lip to hold back a particularly loud moan when his thumb slips over his sensitive cockhead, and he can feel a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. It must look a little strange masturbating fully clothed, but he doesn't stop watching Castiel. And Castiel methodically looks him over in return, clearly enjoying every second.

Feeling his orgasm starting to creep up from the base of his spine, Dean pumps his hand faster. Talks faster. "I know you think you like bottoming more, but that ain't true at all. Love the way you suck me in and take my dick. Always so noisy about it. Needy. Fuckin' _love_ that, Cas." He moans deeply. "And I know you think I don't like it as much when you're doin' me 'cause I don't make as much noise or whatever, but it's not 'cause I don't like it." He can't keep eye contact anymore, the sensations too much. He fucks into his fist as fast as he can. "I'm quiet 'cause... _fuck_ , 'cause it's so fucking _overwhelming_. Li-like you're worshipping me, or something. God, you're amazing!"

He can't bite back the cry as his orgasm takes over, and he belatedly remembers to catch as much of his release as he can in the sample cup. He shudders as he gives himself a few final tugs. He takes a minute to collect himself, breathing hard. When he glances up, Castiel is standing in front of him with a wide grin and a packet of wipes.  
Laughing, Dean holds up the cup. "Success!"

"Congratulations," he says dryly. "You got come on your shirt."

"Price of admission," Dean says, wiping his mess then going to the sink to get the lube of of his hands. Castiel ladles the sample cup and puts it into the box on the wall that opens on the other side to the specimen room. 

"Ready to go?"

Dean nods, still grinning and flushed. They stop at the front desk to sign out, ignoring the knowing looks they get. "That wasn't so bad at all," Dean says as they stroll through the parking lot.

"Speak for yourself," Castiel says a bit petulantly, adjusting the front of his pants. "I'm so horny."

Dean winks at him as he slips into the driver's seat. "I'll take care of you at home."

"Good," Castiel sighs, buckling up. "All talk and no action is _torture_."

"Says you."

"Says me. Seriously. Get us home. No detours."

Dean cranks the engine gamely. "Done."


	14. Hunters with Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hunt with Dean Winchester, Sheriff Donna Hanscum admits one of her biggest sexual desires over beers and nachos. And when Dean surprises her by being down for the kink, they have an even more thrilling night together than killing monsters could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Donna Hanscum/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** pegging, bottom!Dean, fingering, friends with benefits

It's a good hunt, followed by so-so beers at a shitty diner. Donna Hanscum's hair is a hot mess. She'd forgotten that Dean is heavy-handed with the gasoline when burning monsters is at stake, and he'd lit the match before she'd been able to step away far enough. It's not too bad. Well. Could have been worse. Her hair was dirty from the hunt anyway. She forgives Dean for the current frizz 'cause he's cute. And also 'cause she's gonna leave him with the check.

During the first beer and potato skins, they ask each other how life's been going. Kinda the same for Donna. Dean's got a couple more scars with interesting stories behind them.

The second beer brings the loaded nachos with it, and they both talk about their lack of plans with the future, and okay-ness with the present.

The third beer gets Dean a little looser. That's when he asks Donna about her love life and when she won't answer, admits to a dry spell himself. Donna snorts and assures him that attractive people like him only have dry spells because they _want_ them, and she's not gonna pity him. Dean takes the backhanded compliment graciously, but subtly pushes her again.

Against her better judgement, Donna finally says, "another one off the hook, I guess. Took off running after a while."

Dean has the kindness in his heart to look surprised, though Donna thinks he's just being nice. Super nice. Dean's great. He can also see through her forced cheer. That's not so great.

But his gorgeous green eyes soften and he sounds completely sincere when he says, "it ain't you, Sheriff. You know that, right?"

Donna rolls her eyes, if only to keep the sudden tears from spilling out. Dean's a _real_ nice guy. "This time I think it was."

Dean pushes the plate towards her. "How come?"

"Sex thing," she blurts, blaming the beer since she hasn't had any in awhile. "Not compatible."

His eyes sparkle. "Tell me all about it."

She flushes, but Dean's never been one to judge. Not her or anyone else. That's what makes him cute. Might as well go for broke. Heck, he might even understand. "Well... see, he didn't... I'll tell ya, Dean-o, he didn't let me be the one on the diving board, you get me? Maybe I'm a little unconventional, or whatever, but I like having some of the power every now and then. Ain't nothing to be ashamed of, right? I wasn't gonna degrade him or anything. I just wanted..." She trails off.

Dean folds his arms and leans on the table. "To experience both ways. At least once."

"Yeah," she says with a small, nervous smile. "Maybe I wouldn't have even liked it! Wanted to try everything once. Twice if I liked it."

An oppressive silence follows, and for a second, Donna's sorry she said anything. But then, Dean scoffs, scooping up another messy handful. "Better he left, then. The sex ain't good enough unless you need a safeword sometimes."

Needled, Donna shoots back, "okay, yeah, fine, then what's _your_ safeword, bucko?"

"Poughkeepsie," Dean answers without missing a beat.

Donna's eyes widen. Tries not to choke on her nachos. They go down super hard. This isn't happening. Probably. She's probably imagining all sorts of stuff because of the beer. She coughs, bright grin faltering. "What the hey are you saying?"

"Nothing," Dean says through a mouthful of chili cheese nachos, cool as you please. "'m offering."

"Kale," Donna answers before she can talk herself out of it. 

Dean arches an eyebrow.

"It's supposed to be something you'd never ever say normally, right? Kale."

"Woman after my own heart," he grins.

Feeling bolder by the second, she shrugs. "Don't want your heart. Just your body."

He laughs and it's a beautiful sound. "Good enough for me." He throws some cash on the table. "Give me an hour."

She picks it up and smooths it out, pushing it to the edge of the sticky table. "You sure? I mean, you're... y'know, and I'm... y'know."

Dean wipes his hands off on a stack of napkins and stands. He comes to her side of the table and grins down at her. "I know what you think. And we're gonna get you over that." He shoves his hands in his coat pockets. "Donna, you're good people. And _I_ think that _you_ think too little of yourself. And you know I'll put my money where my mouth is. So what I want you to do is go back home, grab whatever you want out of the toybox I know you got shoved in your closet, and wait for me. Imma get ready and be to your place in an hour." With that, he winks, leaves her speechless, and then leaves the bar.

Donna's left with nothing but a doggie bag and Dean's promise, so she leaves. Gets into her car and goes home. Turns on all the lights and then turns most of them off again. Winces at the clutter everywhere and then rushes to clean it up. Then remembers that she's getting laid and should probably shower or something. Which she does, thoroughly. When she's finished, she wraps the towel tightly around herself, squishing her forearms over her breasts and wishing she had a hell of a lot more confidence to mess around with Dean Winchester than she actually does.

In fact, as she tosses on the silk robe that makes her feel sexiest and grabs for her shoe box of toys on the top shelf of her closet, she manages to do a decent job of convincing herself that Dean won't _actually_ show up. He'd boosted her ego a little, and he'd call in a few days to apologize and say he caught a case somewhere and had to run off. She'd almost believe him and it'd be fine.

It's fine.

The doorbell rings.

Holy cow.

Dean's leaning against the doorframe, and he's brought a dozen donuts. Powdered sugar and glazed. With cookie dough milkshakes. He grins and holds them out. She takes the box and it's still warm on the bottom. "I'm a little bit in love with you," Donna says.

Dean laughs. "Good. Wanna eat first or fuck me first?"

She nods over her shoulder and starts walking towards the stairs. "No reason we can't have snacks." She flips up the lid and takes one of the doughnuts. Dean follows beside her and eats one, too.

"That's what I like about you," he says, mouth full with half the doughnut in one bite. "Y'don't stand on ceremony."

"Why would I?" she shrugs. "You know me and I know you. Pretending only makes it weird."

"I agree."

They get to the bedroom and both sit down on the edge, finishing half the box together and most of their milkshakes before Dean pulls some paper napkins from his jacket pocket and they clean the worst of the stickiness off. "You sure you wanna do this?"

Dean bends down to unlace his boots. "This ain't a pity fuck, Sheriff," he says.

She flinches a little at his directness, but the admission does put her at ease a little. "Saw right through me, huh?"

Dean kicks his boots towards the dresser and tosses his socks as well. Then he shucks off his coat. "Sure did. Look, Donna, no one's saying I don't get around a lot, but I don't screw people I pity." He sits up straight and looks her right in the eye. "Especially not when I care about them and respect them."

Suddenly tears fill her eyes. She sniffles loudly and says, "I'm gonna use the biggest dildo I got on you, Dean Winchester."

He laughs. "Well, don't be shy about it. I can take a lot. And I figured you'd appreciate the bigger the better, so I got the biggest plug in my collection in. Wanna see?" He winks with a silly, flirty smile.

"Darn right, I do," Donna grins, marveling at Dean's ability to put her at ease. Suppose that's part of his job, sure, but when she reaches out and grabs the hem of Dean's shirt, and he lifts his arms without a moment's hesitation, she sure does appreciate his sincerity. And he looks _fantastic_ naked. 

He knows it, too, unashamed to show off. Comfortable bending over to kick off his jeans and move close to untie the robe with a few quick flicks of his wrist. He doesn't push it off, but lets it fall open, understanding Donna's hesitation. He gives her an obvious once over, and darned if she doesn't feel incredible when what he sees makes his semi-hard on twitch with interest. "You got an incredible set of breasts that I'd really like to put my mouth on," he says, sounding a little breathless.

Donna straightens her shoulders, the silk sliding off over her nipples, baring her to the cold air and Dean's callused fingers. He's a pro even at the foreplay, taking his time to palm the underside of her breasts, brushing up the sides and slowly leaning forward to close his soft lips over her already-hard nipple. A small whimper of desire leaks from her mouth.

With a small tug, he encourages her into his lap, and she straddles him, his gloriously hard dick sliding against her pussy, between the folds, rubbing against her clit. Donna braces her hands on Dean's hard thighs, rocking against him, so wet for him. 

"Ah, sugar, you wanna come first, don't ya," Dean murmurs from between her breasts.

"If you're offering," Donna answers, breath hitched when Dean reaches between them and slips two fingers into her wet heat. She scoots back just enough so that his wrist won't cramp. He presses his thumb against her clit, making small circles as he curves his fingers inside her, searching.

"Oh, there!" she cries when he hits her G-spot.

Dean presses against the spot, barely moving his fingers as he massages her clit, and it's _so good_ and it's been _so long_ that she's on the edge embarrassingly fast. She surges up against Dean's chest to grab him in a bruising kiss. Her whole body shudders when she comes. And Dean keeps going with a moan trapped in his throat until a second orgasm washes over her like a wave on the beach. 

Trembling, Donna pulls back fully, satisfied to see that Dean isn't unaffected. His lips are swollen, shining, and his hands are shaking, cock leaking pre-come.

"You're something else," Dean says, eyes shining. 

"Thank you," Donna says sincerely, crawling to her knees and grabbing the strap on. Dean watches her buckle it with hungry eyes as he scoots back to the head of the bed. He tosses her the bottle of lube from the nightstand. "How do you wanna do this?"

Dean grins crookedly. "Any position you want. I've got experience with this."

"Good, 'cause I wanna watch you," she says daringly. 

"Come and get it," Dean beckons with a finger and sultry voice. 

Donna doesn't need to be told twice. She's on him in the blink of an eye, devouring his mouth again while she pokes at the plug inside him, pressing it into his prostate. 

"Oh, fuck yes," Dean gasps. "Easy there or this'll be over before it starts."

Grinning, Donna carefully removes the plug. It slides out easily, well-lubed and a generous size. Dean definitely wasn't lying about his former experience. He makes a noise of restless complaint at being empty again. "Patience," Donna giggles. "I got this." She lubes up the strap on and adds more to Dean's rim, just to be safe. "So loose," she says approvingly.

"Didn't want you to have to do all the work. You've waited long enough," Dean says, lazily stroking his dick.

"So sweet of you." She takes a pillow and slides it under Dean's hips for the best angle then wraps her arms under his knees, dragging him up. Dean lets himself be manhandled, frankly looking thrilled at the prospect. And as excited as she is to get this show on the road, she wants Dean to feel as good as she does. As happy with the whole situation. So she takes her time to line up properly, and pushed past Dean's tight hole as slowly as she can manage, pausing frequently when she feels any resistance at all.

But Dean does wonderfully, face contorted with pleasure every step of the way. He even makes gorgeous noises of encouragement. Breathes out a rough swear she she's seated fully. "Feels fucking _awesome_ ," he whispers.

Donna beams. Dean opens his eyes and he's a wonder with pupils wide and a flush high in his cheeks. "Ready?"

Dean nods. "Give me all you got. I'll take it and love it," he promises.

It takes a minute for Donna to figure out what to do. She's not used to this position in the slightest, and it's decidedly odd to figure out how to use a dick properly. But after several experimental thrusts, she gets the rhythm. Dean starts to rock up against her, meeting her with force that punches the air out of his lungs every time.

"Shit," he sighs. "Shit, shit, Donna, fuck me."

"Doing it," she says, enthralled.

" _Fuck me_!"

Donna lets loose, pounding into Dean and he shouts his pleasure. She can't get enough of it. Dean chasing his own orgasm, hand practically flying over his dick as she moves inside him as fast as she can. Her thighs ache with strain, and it's perfect. 

Dean keeps eye contact until the very last second when he squeezes them shut and moans, "gonna come for ya, sugar. Fucking watch me."

Donna does. Does she _ever_. Dean isn't known to hold anything back. His back bows off the back as he groans, teeth clacking together, grinding, coming all over his fist and chest. The force of it pushed the silicone cock out of him.

Donna rolls back on her heels, feeling like she's just come again herself.

"Fuck," Dean chants. "fuck, fuck, fuck, holy fuck that was awesome."

Donna laughs lightly. His reaction does wonders for her ego.

When Dean finally pries his eyes open, his sated grin splits his face. "Hey, Sheriff," he murmurs.

"What's up, Winchester?"

"You ever get the itch to do that again? Promise you'll call me first."

Donna holds out her fist. Dean bumps it with his clean hand. "You got it, green eyes."

And after everything, Dean even spends the night. Best lay ever.


	15. Two Things True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hounded every Christmas about not bringing anyone home to meet the family, Castiel Novak asks his best friend, Dean Winchester to accompany him home to charm his nosy family into submission. However, a sarcastic comment to Castiel's mother has her believing that her son and Dean are a couple, and neither of them have the heart to tell her the truth. Not until they have the courage to tell each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Teen  
>  **TAGS:** college AU, fake relationship, confessions, roommates to friends to lovers

There are two things that Dean Winchester knows for certain. One: Bert and Ernie are gay. Two: he is desperately in love with his best friend, Castiel Novak. Has been since they met three years ago. Hopes it's a situation where he always will be. It's awesome. Regardless of the fact that the one time he'd asked the guy out early in their freshman year, he'd been turned down. Gently, though, so it wasn't all that bad. Castiel had looked honestly regretful when he'd said, "I'm sorry, Dean, I can't think about dating." Dean had been crushed, but in true Winchester fashion, had shrugged it off and acted like everything was normal. Castiel had followed his lead, and after about a week, it had become true. And remained true.

Being best friends is far more valuable than any other non-blood relation, so much as Dean can tell. He's been through all the newly-minted adult growing pains, misery, triumph, with Castiel, and none of it is as constant as the two of them being together. Lovers left, classes ended, hobbies came and went. But Dean and Castiel were always together. It's effortless in so many ways, and to Dean, that's all that really matters. 

They can be together for hours on end, and often are. Days, sometimes. Especially since they've both gone to college out of state and neither one has any extended family within a four hundred mile radius. Dean's family had rented him an apartment, and Castiel's had done the same, and neither of them had given up their illusion of freedom to live together and save the money, but they're never more than a day apart in their own space before one gripes about boredom and they end up at either apartment. They've both got king sized beds, so they can share without cramping each other's style, even. It's perfection.

Currently, Dean is sitting on his side of the bed flipping through shows on Netflix, and Castiel has his laptop resting on his knees, reading his email. They've been in silent companionship for the better part of two hours now, so Dean's a little startled when Castiel makes a noise of complaint and groans, "not again." He then proceeds without preamble to read the email out loud. "Castiel, I'm confirming the dates for your winter vacation. I realize you're probably excited to spend time on your own, but as is the family tradition, we'll expect you here for at least Christmas until the New Year. All I ask for is a full week of your time. You can choose the other dates as you please, and let me know as soon as possible. Feel free to bring whoever it is we know you've been dating since your poor mother and father aren't around to 'cramp your style' anymore." He makes actually air quotes that have Dean biting back a grin. "We would love to meet her. Much love, Mother." He gives Dean his most sour, frowning look.

Dean laughs. "Sounds like you expected an email exactly like that."

"Every year," Castiel says, slipping off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "They hope that I'm hiding a secret girlfriend because they're tired of matchmaking."

Dean starts singing _Imaginary Lover_ until Castiel whacks him with a pillow. "Come on," Dean says, grabbing the pillow off of his head and putting it behind himself. "It can't be _that_ bad."

"It's so bad," Castiel counters. "It's humiliating. I stay there for a week and she'll bring in some child of one of her acquaintances who I've never met, and she comes to all the family functions, and we're expected to fall in love in seven days and live happily ever after . I don't want to go alone." He knocks his head back against the wall dramatically.

That makes Dean laugh harder. "So, how about taking me?"

Castiel stares at him. Dean shrugs. "Why would I do that?"

"I'll have your back!" Dean insists. "Plus, my family is like, four hours away. Kill two birds with one stone, right? I can visit them and help deflect your family. We don't have to like... I dunno... pretend to be lovers or anything, but I could be backup! Tell them all about the girls you're dating and the friends you have."

Castiel scoffs. "I have about four friends, and I've never dated."

"Okay, fine, a tiny lie, then. A few tiny lies. Do you wanna have them hound you all over the holidays, or hang with me? I'll stick around a couple days and then get off to my house. We'll both be saving a lot of time and sanity."

Castiel considers it. Then smiles. "Actually, that sounds like a good plan. You're charming enough, you'll probably be able to convince them better than I could myself. They never believe me."

Grinning, Dean says, "it'll be fun. Email her back and tell her you're bringing your best friend!"

Castiel chuckles and does so. He's weak to Dean's enthusiasm, anyway. "Thank you, Dean. You make everything so much less tedious."

"Anytime, Cas," Dean says, turning back to the TV and flipping on a Marvel movie. Anytime.

***

Two weeks later the pair are packing for their flight home. It's then that Dean discovers they have an awful lot of stuff at each other's apartments. "Is this weird?" Dean asks, hauling his suitcase into Castiel's room packed half and half with both their clothes.

"Not with how much time we spend together," Castiel answers, sorting through it and handing Dean his toothbrush and assorted other migrated items. "We should probably find a two bedroom place together next year."

"That'd be easier, wouldn't it?" Dean says, folding the flannel shirts Castiel has pulled from his closet. Surreptitiously sniffing them just to get a whiff of Castiel's fancy laundry detergent.

"I think so. How long do you think the drive'll take? And do we really have to take your gas guzzler? It'll cost quadruple to get us there."

"Hey, man, my car is built for road trips, and I replaced her engine, anyway. She's not nearly as bad as she used to be about sucking up fuel. We'll be to your place in like, five hours, tops."

There's no use arguing. Castiel relents rather than waste the energy. "Okay," he says.

***

The drive is an awful lot like their weekends together, just in a more confined space. Dean sings at the top of his lungs to a scratchy cassette tape he's named, "Dean's Top Zepp Traxx." Castiel builds a civilization in Minecraft of his tablet while ignoring Dean's ribbing about it. They eat wonderful burgers at a dirty diner, hit up a rest stop souvenir shop, and buy each other keychains with their names on them.

And when they arrive at Castiel's family home, they're greeted at the door by an intense rush seemingly impossible for just three people.

There's hugging and people talking over themselves, and more hugging, and shoving and stumbling inside before Dean's even registered what's happening. It's a lot like his family, truth be told.

"Everybody," Castiel calls over the din once they're inside, "I'd like to introduce Dean Winchester."

Very suddenly, there is silence as though everyone hasn't noticed Dean until that very second when his name was spoken into existence. Father, mother, brother, all shout Dean's name in near-unison, layering him with hugs as they introduce themselves. Naomi, Cain, Gabriel. Finally, some names for Dean to put with the faces. There's more talking over each other, half-questions with half-answers. Like putting a post-it on the conversations to remember to revisit the important stuff later. Dean can't get enough of this. Castiel's family is a _hoot_. They're the kind of nosy you really only see in sitcoms.

But Naomi finally calms everyone down, in time for Dean to realize that Naomi has been very sincerely saying she's sorry to her youngest son.

"Oh, I apologize," Naomi says regretfully. "Castiel, I never thought about it, and just assumed... I should never have just assumed that you'd be heterosexual. It's fine, you know? So, this is why you never brought anyone home to meet us? Because he wasn't a girlfriend, but a boyfriend?"

Castiel makes a tiny, angry noise, but Dean's way ahead of all of them. He drapes his arm over Castiel's shoulder, roughly dragging him close. In a tone as flat as Kansas, he says, "totally. Cas here is the love of my life."

"How wonderful!" Naomi exclaims, eyes sparkling as she ushers them inside. Everyone except Dean is either oblivious to, or ignoring Castiel gaping like a largemouth bass. "Now, we stand on a bit of ceremony here, but since you practically live together, I'm not going to make your lives difficult by keeping up appearances and pretending what's happening isn't what's happening. You can both share Castiel's room, but please, clean up any funny business so I don't have to."

Dean nearly blacks out holding his breath against the laughter. Visual daggers assail him from Castiel, who is currently trying to disentangle himself from Dean's affection, but his best friend refuses to release them until they're ushered into Castiel's childhood bedroom with their suitcases, the door shut behind them.

"I would kill you now if my mother wouldn't make me clean it up," Castiel growls.

Finally, Dean lets loose the full body laugh he's been waiting to this entire time. " _Wow_ , your family is _awesomely_ blind."

"No," he says sourly, "they're simply overjoyed that I've 'fallen in love,' no thanks to you."

Refusing to be baited, Dean kicks off his boots and topples back into the queen sized bed. "Dude, you're not beholden to them if you're not the falling in love type. Just tell them that. Despite their reaction, they're good people, I can already tell. They just want you to be happy."

"I"m not aromantic," Castiel says, stripping off his heavy knitted sweater. "I'm..." he trails off when he meets Dean's interested stare. His own gaze skirts away. "I'm not." He sits down on the edge of the bed away from Dean's feet. "This was such a bad idea. I knew you'd tease me and something bad would happen."

Dean makes an incredulous noise. "Didn't you even _hear_ my delivery down there? I couldn't have been more obviously sarcastic if you'd given me a million dollars! You should have warned me your parents are as good at reading people as you are. Which, is not at all."

"Don't be an ass. All of us can read people just fine. My parents are simply blinded by their sudden happiness for me and the rush to assure me that they aren't homophobic."

Dean shimmies down beside him. "Guess I don't need to worry about them having any problems with my bi ass, huh?"

"The don't have trouble with mine, apparently," Castiel shoots back. He's afraid he's stepped in it when Dean's eyes widen with shock.

But then they soften and he says, "if you want me to, I'll go down there right now and tell them what's really up."

Castiel grabs Dean's hand when his friend starts to stand. "Don't," he says. "I mean, if you want to... but you don't have to."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Castiel sighs, unable to resist tangling his fingers with Dean comfortingly. He's pleased that Dean allows it. "I mean, I know you only just met them, but my mom hasn't looked that relaxed and happy during the holidays since I was old enough to start taking an interest in anything beyond friendship with people. Maybe the best gift I can give her is to not stress her out. Even though we're lying about our relationship, she won't focus on it. She'll just enjoy herself."

"You're a hell of a son," Dean says admiringly, bumping Castiel's shoulder. "Sorry I caused a ruckus, but if you're good with it, I'm good with it. Let's do this thing."

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel says with the utmost sincerity.

"Anytime, Cas," Dean answers. "You know that."

***

Castiel is not a morning person, and never has been. Dean's the early riser, and makes enough noise getting dressed in the dark in an unfamiliar room, and using the unfamiliar adjoining bathroom, that Castiel has no choice but to wake up earlier than is natural for him, squint-glaring at everything and grumbling about coffee.

Cheerfully, because he knows it annoys Castiel, Dean leads him downstairs to the kitchen. They're not even through the doorway fully when Gabriel hollers, "halt!"

Instinctively, Dean freezes. Castiel crashes into the back of him, grumbling harder. 

"What?" Dean demands.

Gabriel points up. 

Castiel and Dean raise their heads to the archway. "Son of a bitch," Dean murmurs. "What the hell is this?"

Gabriel grins. "A tradition known as mistletoe. Now, kiss him, Dean, or else your cranky-ass boyfriend won't get his coffee."

Dean makes to protest, feeling it's a little far to stretch the lie, but there's a growl from behind him, and sudden hands on either side of his head, yanking him around. He's imagined about a thousand first kisses with Castiel, but standing in the kitchen in front of Castiel's brother four days from Christmas while they're faking dating, was not one of them. The reality's not so bad, though. Castiel's lips are at least how he pictured. Warm, dry, chapped because he sleeps with his mouth open. It's pretty fucking great, actually.

"Pardon me," Cain's gruff, just-woken, but amused voice says from somewhere behind them. "Gabriel, I assume this is your doing before breakfast?"

"Naturally," Gabriel answers.

Castiel shoves Dean away, gives him an apologetic grumble, and shuffles over to the coffeemaker.

Dean slips to the side out of Cain's way, too shellshocked to do anything else but stand there and wait for a cup of coffee to be deposited into his hands by Castiel. Mixed perfectly with cream and sugar, he's vaguely surprised to note.

***

The afternoon and evening aren't nearly as interesting as the morning, but dinner offers a few options for Dean and Castiel to get interrogated by the whole family about how they came to be together. It's easy enough to get their story straight because they can pretty much tell the whole truth down to how they're considering sharing an apartment next year. Castiel's family is in full support and Dean feels a sharp ache when he puts himself in their shoes. Fuck, but even the truth sounds like they're a real couple. Must be nice.

And Dean has no idea what Castiel is thinking about when he tells his parts of their relationship, but when Dean tells his, he thinks about how exams would have been easier to handle if they'd taken study breaks to make out instead of watching _Indiana Jones_. How spring break at the beach would have been so much better if they'd been able to shower off the salt water together. How weeks apart during the summer would have sucked so much more knowing what they'd be missing with each other that didn't involve a pizza box between them and PS4 controllers.

Dean thinks about kissing Castiel and having kissed Castiel until he falls asleep next to him that night, still partially drunk on eggnog. And then he dreams about it, too for good measure.

***

The sucking a whole lot more happens two days later when Dean has to say his goodbyes so that he can be with his own family for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He won't even see Castiel again until the new year when they're back at school since the Novak clan had wheedled their youngest into taking a flight back and extending his stay since Dean wouldn't be able to pick him up thanks to his part time job to return to. For once in his life, Dean is upset that Castiel is taking a page out of his book and changing his plans at the last minute.

But it's probably best this way watching his best friend in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of the driveway because otherwise he'd be stuck thinking about kissing Castiel even more, and then probably have to do something about it when they inevitably stopped at another rundown tourist trap to gas up and buy more souvenirs.

He should probably keep his own apartment after the summer.

***

Gabriel sits down so hard next to his brother on the couch New Year's Eve, that Castiel sloshes his beer all over his shirt. "Dammit, Gabriel," Castiel mutters, too far on the drunker side of tipsy to summon up any real anger.

"Why do you look like someone just killed your Christmas puppy?" Gabriel asks.

"I'm fine," Castiel answers moodily.

"You're not, and you're terrible at lying, besides. Don't know why you bothered. Is this about your not-boyfriend?"

Castiel squints at his brother. "Dean's my boyfriend."

"Oh, my God, I literally just reminded you you're bad at lying. I know you guys aren't together."

"No, you don't. How?"

Gabriel drapes his arm over the back of the couch, poking Castiel in the back of his head. "Because that mistletoe was a test and I have eyes. That was your first kiss."

Castiel scoffs. "You can't possibly know that."

"I can, and I do. Maybe _you_ didn't notice the way he stared at your mouth the rest of the damn day, but people who've made out before don't look so indecently hungry after a peck under the mistletoe, little bro."

He's taking a breath to continue, but Castiel can't stand it anymore. "Would you please drive me home, Gabriel? Now? Right now?"

If Gabriel's surprised, he hides it behind his smile. "We might not make it before midnight."

"Then I'll kiss him at 12:01. For real this time."

"Guess I'll spend the night at your place then. Gimme your spare key and we're even."

Castiel drains the dregs of his beer. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Gabriel winks. "I'm a sucker for a well-written story. Let's go. Get your shit, we'll leave in a half hour."

***

Dean's never spent New Year's Eve by himself before, but for once, the last thing he's ready to do tonight is party. It's only nine, anyway. He can change his mind and meet all his friends at the bar down the street to count down the last seconds of the year, but that's shit's unappealing. His loneliness has got the better of him, and he's not superstitious, anyway. Ringing in a new year alone and depressed won't mean that's how the rest of the year will go. Plus, it's exhausting watching the teeming crowds in New York City making a desperate show of having a good time. If Castiel is here with him, he doesn't feel like celebrating, anyway. His bottle of Jack is keeping him plenty warm enough, besides.

He sinks sideways onto his couch and is asleep by ten. 

But then he's almost awake again to a quiet voice saying, "three minutes 'til midnight. Don't be asleep for it, Dean."

Dean blinks. "Cas?" His voice sounds rough and sandy.

Castiel, kneeling in front of him asks, "are you drunk?"

Groaning at the protest in his back from falling asleep on the couch, Dean pulls himself up and rubs his eyes. "No. I only had a few shots hours ago."

"That's good because we need to talk, and it's 2 minutes and thirty seconds 'til."

"'Bout what?"

Castiel climbs onto the couch beside him. "Because when we kiss at midnight, I want it to be as your boyfriend. For real this time."

Dean blinks again. "Uh."

Castiel has the uncanny ability of never shying away from uncomfortable emotions, but when he's uneasy, he stares. He's doing that right now. "When I told you freshman year that I couldn't go out with you, it wasn't because of you. Or me not having a crush on you, because I did. I do. I knew... if I said yes, it would have been the only thing I wanted."

Since Castiel is taking such a risk, Dean does the same by holding his hand again with the new understanding budding between them. "I know for fact that you can multitask, Cas. It wouldn't've been like that."

"But it was, even when we weren't dating," Castiel disagrees. "The clothes in your closet. My toothbrush by your sink. It's the same thing. And my parents spent so much money on my education, that I didn't want to get distracted and ruin their investment since it meant so much to me. Then I got comfortable. You dated other people. I didn't realize I was already balancing everything I needed to. I could have had you, and a social life, and good grades." He glanced down at their joined hands, finally breaking eye contact. "I think it's too late. You've moved on, and I realize that. After Lisa and Aaron... I wanted to tell you, anyway. Just in case."

"It's never too late with me," Dean says softly. "For you? It's never too late."

Castiel is staring again. "You'll kiss me at midnight as my boyfriend?"

Dean leans in. A breath away he answers, "three, two, one," and kisses his new for real boyfriend exactly as he'd wanted to since they'd met.


	16. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel deal with the fallout after coming clean to Sam about their secret relationship.
> 
> This is a continuation of my Bodyguard AU, from [Chapter 09](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12374055/chapters/28148085) of this series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** Bodyguard!Dean, Bodyguard!Castiel, Actor!Sam, handcuffs, feelings, cock warming, bondage, gagging, breath play, Dom Castiel, Sub Dean

Sam's angry in a sort of pre-teen tantrum kind of way. It's showy angry. Actor angry. But _boy_ has he always done it really well. In his house, he slams cabinets and leaves the room in a huff when Dean and Castiel deign to be together in the same shared space for more than two minutes. He swipes key cards in his hotel room doors with a huff and makes sure that both of his bodyguards get the stink eye before it closes.

It would be incredibly annoying to Dean if he didn't feel he deserved.

"You need to keep your cool about it," Castiel says. "He'll come around."

Dean keeps his cool.

And he keeps his fucking cool.

And he still keeps his goddamn _cool_.

He is so shitting _cool_ that the thermostat needs to be set to eighty.

Then Sam Bratty Winchester has an interview with Entertainment Tonight that sets his older brother's teeth on edge. It's a "casual" thing. Sam's pretty off the cuff for the questions about his new movie, and since he's so open about his home life, he parries easy questions about that, too. And the interviewer is loving every second of his down home, Texas bred charm.

"So, your bodyguards? There's always a lot of buzz about them. Have they been with you from the start, considering one of them is your brother?" She waves vaguely between the two, unsure which is which.

Sam grins like a piranha, but really, he's so practiced at it that only Dean and Castiel can smell the blood in the water. "Oh, _yeah_ ," he drawls. He thumbs over his shoulder at them. "Dean's the taller one. That's my older brother who I _adore_. Seriously. I wouldn't _be here_ without him looking out for me. The frowny one is Castiel. We brought him in a few months later, and he's my _best friend in the world_. The three of us? Peas in a pod, I'll tell ya. We know _everything_ about it each other. No secrets or nothin'."

In an almost invisible movement, Castiel places his palm over Dean's lower back. He knows when to expect the sound and the fury. Dean tenses under him, but doesn't otherwise move. 

Three fake smiles grace the clueless interviewer, and thankfully, the whole ordeal is over fifteen minutes later. An hour all told, if the ride home counted. Dean counted it. Dean counted every fucking _second_ of it.

He's about lay into his baby brother the second they're behind closed doors, but Sam is already sweeping away to the pool, and Castiel's hand is a vice on Dean's forearm. "Follow," he says in the voice that _will not_ be disobeyed.

Loathe as he is to do it, Dean follows. He has to. And not just because his pants are immediately too tight when he hears that commanding tone, but also because Castiel knows what he's doing. In a scene or not, he knows when Dean's toeing the ledge of somewhere he'd rather not be.

Castiel's bedroom door closes with a sharp click, and the _tink_ of the lock engaging. "Breathe," he says.

Dean's breath heaves out of his lungs. Then heaves back in. Breathing is really hard.

"I can't decide what you need more," Castiel says conversationally as he slips his tie off. 

It's not a question and Dean knows better than to answer. Castiel always takes care of him. Always makes it better.

"You're being quiet now, but I still think you need..." Castiel trails off, grabbing Dean's chin and forcing his head up. Dean's expression makes him smirk, and he continues, "yes. Defiance in those pretty eyes. You'll need a firm hand." He makes a knot in the center of the tie, shoves it into Dean's mouth, and then secures it around the back of his head. "Bite down on that, and stay silent. Do you understand?"

Dean's teeth grind so hard into the knot that the fabric squeaks. He nods.

"Will you give me my head to do as I please?"

Dean nods again, relieved.

Castiel gives him an indulgent grin and begins to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. "Good boy. Remove your clothes. Quickly."

Dean does. And when he's entirely nude, skin prickling at the fully body assessment Castiel gives him, Castiel moves behind him, whips off his belt, and deftly ties Dean's wrists behind his back. Truthfully, this is Dean's favorite thing. Castiel using the tools available to subdue him; not always the tools they've bought for the specific purpose. It's how they used to be years ago when this insanity first began and felt so new. Illicit for Dean. And still _really fucking good_. It almost makes Dean smile to think, _back in the day_.

Castiel must catch wind of his mood shift because he circles back around to Dean's front with his normal soft smile. "You caught my meaning," he says warmly. "How we used to be. So impatient. Hurried. Inexperienced. The things we've learned together..."

God, Dean loves this man. 

"I want you to stand still and listen to me; every word." The steel is back in his voice and Dean obeys with a nod.

"Everything's changed."

Dean's eyes widen as his heart thuds in his chest. What the hell? His former anger and frustration at his brother is washed away in a tide of panic at the ominous start to the speech and the way that Castiel says it hard, but sadly, too. Had they really reached a FUBAR in their relationship? Dean wants to make a noise, but he's bound to obey. Wants to scream that whatever the fuck is wrong, he'll _fix it_. He can't give this up. He _can't_. Not for anyone; not even Sam.

Castiel's cold fingers touch his cheek. His thumb swipes down to Dean's chin and comes away wet. "You don't need to cry. It's not _that_ kind of talk, though it is serious. Breathe, Dean."

He does. Tries to. A for effort and all that.

When Castiel deems him calm enough, he continues. "Sam is angry at us because we're the people he trusts most in the world. For Sam, we're everything. You especially. Since he's become famous, his whole life is on display. Most of that he's brought on himself, being so willing to share his experiences for the sake of his charities and causes. He's always had a big heart. But it's also easily broken. You and I... Sam thought he knew everything about us. He _deserved_ to. Yet, we decided to make our relationship exciting. In the beginning, it was a good move. Sam would have worried too much about us having a fling and breaking up, thus souring our dynamic. He would have done anything to prevent that. But we let it go too long. We were selfish. And that needs to stop."

Dean can't even see Castiel anymore through the blur of guilty, bitter tears. He fucking _knows_ that. He knew the second he'd hung up the phone after telling his brother what was up. It wasn't fair, and it had been the wrong move. So often the case when Dean lets his impulsivity take hold. And they're all paying for it. Suddenly, his mouth is free of the gag, and he's sobbing embarrassingly loud. Only dimly aware of it, he allows himself to be led closer to the bed. Castiel's hand is a steady pressure on his shoulder, compelling him down. He follows, as always, kneeling on the ground, thankful that Castiel's thought to put a pillow on the carpet for his comfort. 

When he can open his eyes again, he notices that he's between Castiel's legs, and his boyfriend has undone his pants enough to free his limp cock.

A surge of painful arousal shoots through Dean, but it only adds to the miasma of guilt, shame, sadness, anger, frustration, hopelessness inside him, and he don't know what he _needs_ because the swirling in his brain is too much to register anything. 

That's why Castiel is the best person on earth in these moments. His hands are on Dean's face again, two fingers pressing down on Dean's bottom teeth until his mouth is completely open. Then he hooks them behind and gently guides him forward, urging his soft dick into Dean's mouth until he's completely engulfed.

It's harder to breathe through his stuffy nose and gummy throat, though that's probably why Castiel is doing it. It's forcing him to focus on one thing, and that's not passing out. 

Castiel removes his fingers and says, "you can pull off if you really can't breathe, but otherwise remain still." His long fingers sift through Dean's hair comforting and steady. "Good boy," he murmurs.

Dean does his best to stay perfectly still, but he can't help sniffling and swallowing convulsively from crying, and phlegm, and Castiel's slowly hardening length in his mouth. He's not getting quite enough air, and it's actually exquisit. Tears leak out of his closed eyes, but they've slowed down considerably the more his muscles relax. The more he focuses on Castiel's warm weight on his tongue. His musky, clean scent. The whispered praises and adulations. Dean doesn't move, but every now and then his throat constricts to swallow, pulling a beautiful soft noise from Castiel.

There's no rush. It's like a sedative, being like this. Castiel has full control, calm, supportive. It makes Dean's mind drift carelessly, until there's nothing. His body relaxes. The constriction eases. He's floating. Weightless.

Gradually, Castiel's fingers tighten in his hair. Not painfully but enough to pull his attention. He begins to thrust his hips slowly. 

Dean moans quietly, stiffening his tongue and willing his throat to open. Thank god for a lack of gag reflex. He closes his lips around Castiel's cock, still loose and willing. 

Castiel hums in approval, holds Dean still. Fucks into his mouth, pausing every time he's fully in, brushing the back of Dean's throat, holding until he's seeing stars,then pulling out again to give Dean a rush of air. 

It's incredible. Dean's lightheaded and blissed out, and he doesn't even care of he gets off or not because this is perfect. Everything he needs. _Castiel_ is everything he needs. He gives his dom everything he demands and then some.

Sooner than expected, or maybe not since Dean's lost all concept of time, Castiel is rolling his hips faster and faster, gasping and moaning, louder and louder. His dick throbs, and Dean may not know how long they've been at it, but he knows when Castiel is getting close. He feels Castiel's thighs tighten to either side of his head, and on his next thrust, Dean sucks hard and swallows. Castiel shouts and yanks on Dean's hair painfully this time, coming hard onto the back of his tongue and down his throat. Dean drinks it all eagerly.

Carefully, with a hiss of satisfaction, Castiel guides Dean's head back off of him. He spares a caress for his cheeks and then sets about removing the tie and his belt. Dean massages proper circulation back into his hands and rolls his sore shoulders while Castiel shucks the rest of his clothes and grabs them both a comfortable change of clothes. Lounge pants and soft t-shirts.

It's too early to sleep, but Castiel folds down the covers on the bed anyway, gathering Dean into his arms, head against his chest and his steady heartbeat lulls Dean to dozing.

And he must have drifted off because when a soft knock sounds on the door, waking him, he blinks up at Castiel who has his glasses on, reading a book with the bedside lamp on since the sun has nearly set. "Come in," Castiel says.

Sam pokes his head through the door and Dean shoots up, ready to stand, but Sam holds up his hands. "You don't have to... um... can we talk?"

"Yeah," Dean says, hoarse from sleep and sex.

Wordlessly, Castiel holds out a bottle of water and Dean takes it with a grateful smile in his direction, but then he's fully focused on his brother.

"I've been acting like a dick," Sam says as he lowers himself into the reading chair by the window. "I'm sorry."

"Dude," Dean protests. "You had every reason to."

"I know," Sam says with difficulty, having a hard time meeting his brother's eyes. "You know why, right?"

"I do," Dean assures him. "We should have told you a long time ago. I'm your brother, and Cas is your best friend, and... man, there's no excuse. I'm so fucking _sorry_." He infuses his voice with as much sincerity as he can because it's all true. He doesn't want to ruin their relationship over this. "I was selfish and I own that. Cas and I..." he glances at Castiel again briefly and Castiel blinks at him neutrally. Dean clears his throat. "Cas and I made a bad call, but it was mostly me."

"The secret was exciting?" Sam ventures with a wan smile.

"Yeah," Dean agrees with a matching expression. "But it's not worth the bullshit we put you through. We'll do whatever you need to make it right."

Sam's eyes widen and he looks at his brother and then his best friend. "I'm not asking y'all to break up. I'd _never_ , okay? You're a great... couple, y'know? If this is what you want, I'm not gonna say anything about it. Even if you broke up... I think it'd work. And if it didn't... well, then we'd figure it out then. But I don't wanna jinx it."

"Sam," Castiel says after a pause. "We're family."

"Damn right, we are," Dean agrees enthusiastically. "Always, okay?"

Sam's smile grows sheepish. "The more I thought about it, the more I was angry at _myself_."

"What?" Dean asks. "Why?"

"Because I should have _known_!" Sam blows out a hard breath that ruffles his long hair that's fallen in his face. "I know you both better than anyone in the world, and I had no idea! Pissed me off, my lack of observational skills."

Castiel chuckles and Dean huffs incredulously. Sam joins in after a moment.

"We good?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," Sam answers, and he looks like he means it. "We're good. I love you guys, okay?"

"Love you too, Sammy," Dean says gruffly, trying to parse the relief and happiness he's feeling.

Sam stands. "Okay, then. Now we can get back to normal. Or. I guess a new normal. But first, pizza. I'm starved."

Dean shoves the covers back, kisses Castiel casually on the lips now that he can, and gets out of bed, wrapping an arm around his brother. He guides them out of the room while Castiel lingers behind with a smile as he listens to his two most important people argue toppings loudly all the way down the hall. As they've always done. As they've always been.


	17. Hunters with Slumber Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Donna have an old fashioned sleepover. This is a continuation of my other Dean/Donna, with the [pegging](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12374055/chapters/28148286)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Dean/Donna  
>  **RATING:** Teen  
>  **TAGS:** slumber party, panty kink, nail painting

"Donna, can I ask you something?" Dean asks in a casual, lazy tone, ensconced in a fairy ring of nail polish bottles in the middle of Donna's bed.

"Shoot," she says, waffling between a sparkling pink and a deep green polish.

Dean tosses aside a bottle of blue. Not really his shade. "Where's the rest of your friends?"

"Doing whatever they're doing," she says with a shrug.

"Dude," Dean scoffs. "There's a reason you're having a slumber party with me and not the rest of your girlfriends. And it ain't because you like me best."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Maybe it's 'cause I wanted a booty call."

He grins. "We had burritos for dinner, you fucking liar."

Donna slaps the bottle of pink polish into Dean's hand and prods his knee with her foot. He uncaps it and gets to work painting her toenails, carefully but still still sloppy. In return, Donna urges him out of his crossed legged position so that she can paint his toes with the forest green. "Yeaaah," she drawls, "ya caught me, Sherlock."

"Ah," Dean says like the world suddenly makes sense. And then he doesn't elaborate.

"What?" Donna whines.

"Nothing," he says, studiously not taking his eyes off of her toes. "It's just... you're super cool to everybody. Like, annoyingly sweet." She snorts. "I mean it! So, it's like... you're one of those people who no one _dislikes_ , but no one likes enough to care about once you're gone. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Harsh," Donna mumbles.

"Ain't your fault," Dean shrugs, moving on to the other foot. "Bad part of the human condition. When people think you never have a bad day, they assume you're all set with what you got. Don't realize what you're lacking."

"Did I accidentally lace the burritos with something that's made you clairvoyant?" she says with a slight edge.

Dean reaches out and tips her chin up so she looks right at him. "I'm cool with being your girlfriend," he says.

She laughs with a bright smile that's actually real. "Sweet talker."

He winks. "You know me, sugar."

They continue on their work in companionable silence, chick flick playing low in the background. Once they're done with their toes, examining the other's work, Donna says, "most women I know aren't really into this sort of stuff." She wiggles her toes. "I mean, hey, I can be hardcore, too, but the frou frou stuff is fun, too, sometimes. It's not all bike rallies and shooting ranges."

"Nothing wrong with a night in, popcorn, and pajamas."

Donna grins. "Forgot the jammies part! Guess you don't have any, though, right?"

Dean glances towards her closet. "You could loan me some," he says suggestively. 

"Really?" She perks up.

"Sure," he says lightly. "Why not? It's your party, so your choice. And don't go for comfort's sake on my account."

"Like I'd ever do that," she giggles, scooting off the bed. She disappears into her walk-in closet, then pokes her head out. "Color preference?"

"I've been told I'm pretty in pink," Dean answers with a devilish grin.

Donna pops away again, and Dean listens to her puttering around with interest. He's not messing around with her, and she seems to know it. He can admit that he's felt sexy a time or two in lingerie that was more form than function. It's not exactly a kink he's shared with many people, in fact, he's explored it so rarely that he's unsure whether it applies as a kink to begin with. But he trusts Donna. More than most women. She's been completely honest with him in all things - even things she'd rather keep to himself. And that kinship is hard to come by. He wishes their paths crossed more often.

Soon enough, Donna is back with a bright smile and an armful of silk and lace. "Pick!" she demands, dumping all of it into Dean's lap. 

He sorts through it thoughtfully. "You sure you're okay with me borrowing any of this? Some of it looks expensive. I don't wanna stretch it out."

"Eh," she dismisses. "Don't worry about it. You got those shoulders on ya, but my boobs are bigger, so it'll probably even out."

Dean holds up a semi-sheer purple negligee. "What are _you_ gonna wear? I don't wanna clash."

That sets Donna laughing for a full minute before she paws through the stack to a satiny one piece with lace in all the right revealing places. "I like this one. It'll look fine with your purple."

"If the lady says so," Dean grins, yanking off his clothes without preamble and unabashedly watching Donna do the same. Even though they've had a few adventures in the bedroom together, Donna still seems reticent about being fully naked in front of him with the lights on, never mind that his hands and mouth have memorized every inch of her. But he has noticed that the more often it happens, the less embarrassed she is about it. The exposure therapy is working for her. Especially now that she only looks slightly uncomfortable before she pulls on the satin panties, and then it's gone in a flash. Dean likes that. She _should_ feel sexy when she's naked. No one should have ever told her she wasn't.

He keeps his eyes on her while she dresses, though the silk panties he slips on are pretty damn distracting. "You know," he says conversationally as he rubs his callused hands over the swell of his ass again and again just to feel it, "on the rack, this shit looks like it couldn't possibly be comfortable, but here I am wearing it, and I can't stop _touching_ myself."

Giggling, Donna works the complicated ties of her top closed, fingering the feathers around the hem. "I know, right? 'Course, there's plenty that's more for looks than comfort. I can only wear a corset for so long. And sometimes lace gets scratchy. But silk and satin? More cozy than a bubble bath."

"Damn right." Dean slips the strappy number over his shoulders, reveling in the watery silk as it brushes over his nipples and belly. Fuck, but he'd forgotten how good it felt. Donna's breasts are far more impressive than his, so the whole thing slides down way too low. "Help a guy out?"

Donna climbs back into the bed and pats him on the knee to get him to turn around and she fiddles with the thin straps on the shoulders to bring it up. "I wish I could be mad at how good you look in this, but darned if you aren't super pretty," she says lightly.

"Belles of the ball," Dean confirms, turning back around and dragging Donna up to the head of the bed. They kick back amongst the pillows and other lingerie, and Donna turns on Netflix to find them a suitably girly movie to watch. They've already got the caramel popcorn and sodas ready to go. Donna selects _An Affair to Remember_ , and Dean approves. He puts the bag of popcorn between them and they settle in holding hands.

"This is the life," Donna sighs after a few minutes. 

"Like living in these old movies," Dean smiles. "Don't they make it seem like all women back in the day went to bed in nighties and perfect makeup?"

"Glamorous even in sleep," Donna says. "Dunno if I could do that all the time. Seems exhausting after a double shift."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, well, those women stayed at home, so of _course_ they had the time to get done up just to sleep," he says sarcastically.

"Can you imagine that after a hunt?" Donna giggles. "'Yes, dear, be right there, just gotta wash out all the gristle and put my negligee on!'"

"I kind of like this after a hunt," Dean muses. "It's relaxing. The way the fabric feels, it's just... feels good. Puts my mind at ease a little, y'know?"

Donna gives him a warm, understanding look. "Anytime you wanna come be my girlfriend again... door's open."

Dean holds her hand tighter, turns back to the movie, and knows for a fact he'll be taking her up on the offer.


	18. In the Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Sam find a way to survive in the cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PAIRING:** Adam Milligan/Sam Winchester  
>  **RATING:** Explicit  
>  **TAGS:** hand jobs, implied torture

They aren't often left to themselves in the Cage, and it takes Sam a long time to figure out that it isn't just a part of the torture. He didn't think there was anything else in Hell. And usually, he'd be right about that. But every now and then Lucifer and Michael get tired. Exhausted of hurting each other and their vessels. Tired of doing what they're supposed to be doing even though there's no one to see the show. They sleep then, and Adam and Sam are left to their own devices for a short amount of time.

Sam and Adam talk a lot. They're too tired themselves to fight. Argue like they had when they were alive. Both of them are aware of how ass-backwards it all is. Adam even wonders out loud why they bother with any of the "getting to know you" crap that's meaningless. He's sure they're going to die eventually down here. Sam doesn't have the heart to tell them that they probably already _are_. He doesn't know for sure, but he _does_ know that they're technically not alive, and that the torture can be eternal, if the archangels inside them decide to play it that way.

"I'm sorry I did this to you," Sam says hoarsely during one such quiet moment when they're themselves.

"How long have we been here, do you think?" Adam asks.

Sam winches. "I know. I should have apologized sooner."

Adam shrugs wearily, like he can't remember exactly how to move his muscles anymore. "You didn't do anything to me that you didn't do to yourself. Plus, you saved the world. I can be angry about that, but it seems like a dick move, don't you think?"

Sam's lips tip up in a humorless smile. "You sound a little like Dean."

"Guess he sounds like Dad, then," Adam answers, inflectionless. Then, a little louder, "I'm not even sure I loved him, y'know?"

Sam leans back against the bars of the Cage. "Believe me, I do." He does. In some ways, he _had_ loved John Winchester. In some ways he'd hated them. Even now he's not sure which one outweighed the other. Or if either of them did. "I might have grown up with him, but... I loved him, but I sure didn't like him."

"Wonder if he's here."

"I hope not. But I wouldn't be surprised."

Adam shifts until they're shoulder to shoulder. "Are we even here anymore?"

Sam grunts a humorless laugh. "Who knows? I stopped feeling anything other than a vague headache ages ago."

Adam slumps. "I don't... I can't do this much longer."

Despite what he'd said, Sam feels a twinge at that. "We're fine," he says firmly. 

In the distance, there's a telltale slam that echoes into the eternal darkness. It won't be long before they're taken again. Torn apart again. Adam makes a wounded noise. Sam grabs him and yanks him into his lap. "Don't think about it!" he demands fiercely. 

Adam's eyes are wide, terrified. "They're coming," he whispers shakily. The rattling of chains follows. 

Sam slaps his hands over Adam's ears. "Don't listen! You have to stay strong! You have to prepare yourself! Don't give in, Adam! We can't do this if we abandon each other! I'm not doing this alone, and neither are you."

Adam kisses him. It's mostly teeth and desperation, but that's the best they can hope for. Sam's hands tighten on Adam's face, keeping him in place. Not like Adam seems keen on getting away. It's something. There's nothing good here - not a damn thing, but if they dig deep, they can find some good feelings. At least enough to keep them going a little longer.

It doesn't have to be much, after all, and Adam has no finesse. His hands don't wander, and neither does his mouth. He devours Sam's lips and his fingers immediately go to the button on Sam's jeans.

It's good enough for Sam. He gives as good as he gets, practically ripping open Adam's pants and dipping under his boxers without preamble. But the noise Adam makes and the way he jerks against Sam is proof enough that this is plenty. Time isn't on their side anyway. They both know it. Adam ruts against Sam roughly, pumping his dick into his large hand and making noisy gasps of pleasure into his mouth.

Sam has enough experience with quick and dirty that he doesn't waste a single movement. He works them both in his large hands frantically, gasping and pulling back from Adam's mouth only enough to get a little more air. It surprises him how good it feels, but he can't remember the last time he felt good at all.

Adam comes loudly sounding similar to when he's been hurt, Sam a moment later.

They lean heavily on each other a moment afterwards, heedless of the mess they've made. Everything's filthy, anyway. Adam presses an achingly gentle kiss on the side of Sam's neck. "It has to end," he murmurs.

"Not yet," Sam answers, sliding his lips along the shell of Adam's ear. "We can hold out."

"For what?" He wraps his arms around Sam's shoulders.

"For Dean. For Cas. They'll get us out of here. They won't stop trying. So we can't stop hoping."

"Fine," Adam growls. "But if that's the case, the fucking angels who put us here can take the beatings."

"Agreed," Sam says with a crooked smile. "See you soon."

Adam winks, and then his consciousness is gone.


	19. In Sickness and in Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel have to find a way to redefine their relationship after a terrible accident.
> 
> This is a continuation of my bodyguard AU! 
> 
> [Part One is here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12374055/chapters/28148085)   
>  [Part Two is here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12374055/chapters/28154403)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing:** Castiel/Dean Winchester  
>  **Rating:** Explicit  
>  **Tags:** bodyguard AU, major character injury, fingering

_New details are just emerging about the violent robbery involving international superstar Sam Winchester and his long-time bodyguards. Just weeks ago,_ Entertainment News Nightly _reported that, while at a Gas 'N Sip in Chicago, Sam Winchester attempted to break up a robbery involving a lone gunman threatening the store clerk. Further reports indicated a citizen wounded in the altercation, and Sam Winchester accompanying an unidentified individual in an ambulance to a local hospital. Several theories have since been widely circulated on social media, but today Sam Winchester has broken his silence about the event ahead of a press tour for his new movie that had wrapped filming in Chicago when the incident took place. He issued the following statement just an hour ago:_

_"Good afternoon. Thanks for coming. Um... I know I've been pretty quiet on Twitter and stuff for the past few weeks. I... I've got a lot of messages of support and concern, and I wanted everyone to know that I wasn't injured in the robbery. Someone really close to me was, though, and until he got a little better, I asked for some consideration for my privacy. But... well, um, I guess it's time to put all the gossip to rest._

_"The man injured in the robbery was my bodyguard, and also... also my brother, Dean Winchester. He's been watching out for me since we were kids, and trained really hard to be able to have my back as my bodyguard. And the reason I've been off the radar is because now it's my turn to help him. The fact is, I wasn't the hero here; my big brother was. My other bodyguard, and best friend, Castiel Novak, got me out safely while Dean confronted the robber. He disarmed the guy, but... but the guy was able to run, and when Dean left the store to at least get the plates and model of the car, the robber... ran him down with his car._

_"My brother was seriously injured, and has a pretty long recovery ahead of him. Because of that, I'll be taking a hiatus for a little while to help care for him. He and Cas are the only real family I've got right now, so their health and happiness is the most important thing to me, even over my career. As for the future, I-"_

Sam picks up the TV remote and switches it off with a sigh. "Charlie says Twitter is blowing up right now. I waited too long to make a statement."

"Six weeks, two days, and ten hours," Castiel says dully. "You did what you needed to do."

"Did you?" Sam asks gently, but pointedly, as he takes a seat next to his friend. "Dean says you're avoiding him. You've _been_ avoiding him."

"I'm not," Castiel counters in the flat monotone that's become his standard voice in the past few weeks. "I've just got double the work to do while Dean is out of commission."

"Bullshit," Sam scoffs. "I haven't left the hospital or the house except for the press conference. You've got nothing else to do."

"Sam..."

"Don't," Sam snaps. "Whatever's so important to say, you say to Dean. I've let it go up until now because focusing on Dean's recovery and release from the hospital was the most important thing. But I saw you shut down when we got his prognosis, and I'm not gonna sit here and act like I'm not pissed."

Castiel leans his elbows on his knees, dipping his head. "He'll recover. I realize the prognosis wasn't the best case scenario, but there's no reason for anger at it."

"Not at _it_ ," Sam bites, voice rising beyond his control, "at _you_. What the hell's this about, Cas? Dean's recovery could take years, so suddenly you're out? I thought you were better than that! In sickness and in health, right? That's what you fucking _said_ and now-"

" _I should have been there!_ " Castiel roars, jumping to his feet and looming over Sam. "I should have been there, Sam!" He thumps himself on the chest. " _Me!_ My job is to protect you and have Dean's back, and I didn't! I wasn't there for him! How am I supposed to apologize for the loss he suffered?! What am I supposed to _do _?!"__

__Slowly, Sam gets to his feet, forcing Castiel to look up to meet his stormy expression. "You're supposed to go up to your room and talk to him. And if you keep insisting on breaking his fucking heart on top of everything else he's been through, I'll make _damn_ sure you pay for it." He points a finger in Castiel's face. "In sickness and in health. You promised him that in front of me, and everyone we love. You can blame yourself all you want, but you're done being on your own for it. I mean it, Cas. This is your last chance."_ _

__Ignoring the tears that burn behind his eyes, Castiel sets his jaw, nods, and wordlessly leaves the room. He doesn't doubt Sam's threat. But the hallway to his shared rooms with Dean feel about a mile long. It takes everything in him to knock on the closed bedroom door._ _

__"Ain't hopping to the door for you, Sammy, come in!" Dean yells._ _

__Castiel's heart clenches as he turns the knob and pushes the door open. Of course Dean thinks it's Sam. It's always been Sam at the door since he got home three weeks ago. "It's me," Castiel says roughly._ _

__Dean's propped up in the huge bed, pillows piled behind him, laptop open on the lap desk, thick framed black glasses slipping down his nose. His eyebrows are so high they're practically in his hairline. "Cas?"_ _

__"Yes." He clears his throat when his voice breaks on the single syllable._ _

__"Press conference went well?" The false levity in Dean's voice sets Castiel's teeth on edge, even though he knows it's all because of him._ _

__"Sam informed me that Twitter is 'blowing up' because of it."_ _

__Dean actually smiles wryly at the air quotes and sets his computer to the side. "Figured."_ _

__God, the awkwardness is so unbearable. Castiel takes a step into the room, the door closing softly behind him. "Dean, I-"_ _

__"I love you, Cas," Dean blurts, cutting off both Castiel's advancement inside the bedroom and his stumbling words. He shuts his mouth, staring at Dean. Wondering what this is about. Wondering why it sounds like a shoe is about to drop. When it does, Dean is looking straight at him with a determined expression as he says, "I'm not an idiot. I love you, and I'm happy to be married to you, but... hell, I saw the way you looked at me when I came out of surgery without my leg. Man, if you want out, I won't fight you. This ain't what you signed up for, and it's been eating at you. You can tell me. I'm not mad."_ _

__The sob that breaks out of Castiel's chest is loud, harsh, bitter. He feels like he's going to be sick. He stumbles to the bed, collapsing onto his hands and knees, desperately wanting to wrap himself up in Dean, but unable to close the distance he doesn't deserve. His vision blurs to watercolor, and his tears patter onto the comforter they'd chosen together. "You almost died because I wasn't there to help," he grates. "I almost lost you."_ _

__"I'm right here," Dean says, sounding awfully far away._ _

__Castiel looks up at him, murky though the film of tears. "You should blame me. This is on me. You lost your leg because of me."_ _

__"Fuck's sake," Dean mutters, finally looking properly angry. "You're starting to sound like _me_. I lost my leg because that asshole ran me over with his SUV. You did your goddamn job and kept Sam safe. You did exactly what I would have done, and none of this is your fault. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can stop moping around the house and tell me if you're in or out. I need you to do that for me, Cas. It's driving me crazy not knowing."_ _

__Castiel blinks. The tears are shocked right out of him. Dean's gaze is steady. Hurting. He swallows. No, I... Dean, I... I..." he shakes his head. Sits up on his haunches as close to the love of his life as he dares. "In sickness and in health. We promised each other that. And I meant it. Without strings. I'm happy to be with you no matter what. It's just..." He trails off._ _

__"You thought it'd be me?" Dean demands into the silence. "That'd I'd blame you?"_ _

__Castiel nods slowly. "At least, I suppose I'd hoped you would so I could justify blaming myself."_ _

__"Not gonna do that," Dean says, eyes softening. "You'd have to run me over yourself for me to blame you. You were doing what you should'a. You saved Sam. Jesus, Cas, I'm _grateful_ for that."_ _

__"Dean." He scoots closer._ _

__"You can stop that shit now. Feels like forever since I last got to kiss you."_ _

__Castiel laughs wetly. "Six weeks, two days, and eleven hours."_ _

__"That's enough."_ _

__Castiel kisses him. Dean leans into it with all the hungry desperation he always has. In that moment, Castiel realizes that Dean's been truthful. Nothing's changed between them. Not for Dean. Dean loves him the same as ever. He rolls them to their sides so they're touching over every available inch, and Dean's holding on tightly enough that Castiel couldn't pull away no matter what. Like he'd want to. He never wants to. And he lets Dean strip him down wordlessly, unbuttoning his shirt with focused deliberation, baring him, and Castiel has never felt so vulnerable. Or loved. "Dean," he whispers when they pause for air._ _

__"Gonna take care of you now," Dean murmurs, unbuckling Castiel's pants. Shucking them with the same ease he's always had._ _

__But when Castiel moves to undress Dean, Dean stops him gently._ _

__"Why?" Castiel asks._ _

__"You get too distracted and will want to take charge," Dean says._ _

__Castiel carefully rolls them again until Dean is flat on his back, Castiel braced above him. "I can't deny that," he agrees, "but are you sure that's it? Your leg? It doesn't disgust me."_ _

__"I know," Dean answers, hands on the move over Castiel's chest, lightly pinching his nipples before smoothing down to the spots just above his hip bones where he's particularly sensitive. "Looks aren't your biggest thing. I know that. You can still have me the way you want. Soon enough, anyway. We'll figure it out." He pushes up onto his elbows to trail his lips over Castiel's pectorals, mouth around the shape of his collarbone, trace up his Adam's apple until Castiel is moaning softly. When Dean reaches down to fondle his husband's balls, stroke up the shaft, Castiel twitches and hardens in his palm._ _

__"Did that worry you?" Castiel asks breathlessly, bracing his palms flat on the mattress on either side of Dean's head. "That I'd be unfulfilled if we couldn't continue with our kinks?"_ _

__"A little," Dean admits, laying back again to watch Castiel's face contort with pleasure as he pumps his dick slowly in his fist, distracting him while he digs for the lube in the bedside table._ _

__"I'd continue to love you as I do now even if we could never have sex again," Castiel promises._ _

__"We've got a long sex life ahead of us," Dean assures him with a crooked grin; the most genuine in weeks._ _

__Castiel arches his back when Dean's slicked fingers stroke down the underside of his dick, over his perineum, pressing against his entrance. He hisses with pleasure and then whines with impatience when Dean refuses to move._ _

__Dean chuckles low. "Want something, sunshine?"_ _

__Castiel's eyes open and he glares ice at his lover. "I still hate brats." And he sinks down over Dean's stiff finger. " _Ah_ , yes," he moans. He gives a few shallow thrusts of his hips but then stops abruptly to stare at Dean. "Are you sure?"_ _

__Dean arches an eyebrow. "About?" he prompts._ _

__"This," Castiel answers, breathing hard. "You're still healing. I don't want to push you."_ _

__Dean shoves his finger in all the way to the knuckle making Castiel cry out. He gives a few rough pumps of his hand until Castiel is shaking above him. "I'm sure," he answers with an edge. "I won't break. I'm not fragile. If _you're_ not ready yet, you tell me now, but don't make it _about_ me, 'cause it ain't." He grinds in deeper, swirling around Castiel's tight rim with a second finger._ _

__Castiel's face screws up with pleasure. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, hissing out panting breaths. "You can punish me, Dean. _Please_. Please, Dean, oh please! I've broken all the rules, please!"_ _

__"Punish you?" Dean growls._ _

__" _Green!_ " Castiel cries, rolling his hips down for more pressure. "Green, green!"_ _

__Dean pushes a second finger in, working past the resistance, knowing it's got to burn._ _

__Castiel shouts a feral sound. "Yes, Dean, more!"_ _

__Dean doesn't give Castiel any quarter, since the man doesn't appear to need it. He works his fingers in and out hard. Castiel quakes above him, tears leaking from his closed eyes. But when Dean finds his prostate and massages the bundle of nerves, Castiel jerks and his eyes pop open wide._ _

__At this point in his recovery, Dean hasn't been able to get hard, though all the medications and pain make it understandable that he can't. However, seeing Castiel sweating, crying, undone above him, causes his dick to try and stir. It only makes him work harder to get him off. Castiel's hips jerk in unsteady movements while Dean's fingers piston in and out of him, alternating with deep, searching presses._ _

__Castiel is louder than he's ever been, trembling on his hands and knees. His breath comes faster and faster and then he throws his head back, moaning Dean's name and coming hard. Thick stripes of come paint Dean's chest and chin. Before Castiel has a chance to turn away, Dean guides him down so they're pressed together again, heedless of the mess._ _

__Dean peppers Castiel's face and lips with adoring kisses. Castiel whispers his name over and over, eyes squeezed tightly shut again, shaking more with emotion than the afterglow._ _

__"I love you," Dean murmurs eventually. "I forgive you. I can't thank you enough for keeping Sam safe."_ _

__Castiel tucks himself slightly to the side against Dean. "I acted so poorly towards you." He reaches behind himself to grab the antibacterial wet wipes to clean them both up with, though neither of them move apart much._ _

__"Can I be honest with you?"_ _

__"Of course," Castiel answers, tossing away the used wipes. He traces Dean's jawline with his finger._ _

__"I'm probably gonna treat you like shit, too. And I probably would have already been if you hadn't been avoiding me."_ _

__Castiel winces. "Have you been speaking with the counselor?"_ _

__"Yeah," Dean says, kissing Castiel briefly. "But it's... this is a life changing thing, Cas. You know how well I handle those."_ _

__"I'll help you," Castiel promises. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it. We're in this together from now on."_ _

__Dean smiles and it's tinged with both his old humor and his new sadness. "I can't do this without you."_ _

__"You won't," Castiel assures him. "We all have to learn, but we are. Forever."_ _

__"That's all I need to hear," Dean says, closing his eyes, comfortable in his bed for the first time in ages. "Forever, Cas," he mumbles, dozing. "You promised."_ _

__"Yes, Dean," Castiel whispers, kissing his forehead. "I promise."_ _


End file.
